Kingdom Hearts: Monster and Man
by WhiteFangofWar
Summary: A new adventure for Sora starts in the pious city of Notre Dame, but uncovering the hidden truth may turn all of Paris topsy-turvy. Rated for religious themes and multiple relationships. Complete.
1. Un

**Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts was created by Square-Enix and Tetsuya Nomura. The Hunchback of Notre Dame is a Disney Production. Final Fantasy Tactics also belongs to Square Enix, and the Phantom of the Opera belongs to its original writer, Gaston Leroux. Some dialogue will be taken directly from HoND ...I think that's everyone now. Let's get this show on the road.**

*** * ***

**Kingdom Hearts: Monster and Man**

* * *

Un

* * *

Even before the construction of the great cathedral that marked its crystal blue skies as a jewel of religious expression, the city of Notre Dame had seen its fair share of strange travellers. From far off lands they came, seeking to pay their respects or simply a place to hide from the eyes of the law, for its underground was every bit as grand. All the same, today's visitor might have attracted a few odd glances at least, what with his foreign garments of black and white, short stature, spiky brown hair, and unusually large footwear. They _might _have looked at him funny, were today not the annual Festival of Fools, a day when no look was too strange or far-fetched. The city's common hustle and bustle had been replaced with the fever pitch of celebration in the square outside the cathedral, and the Festival had not even properly started yet.

Inevitably feeling out of place, the traveller kept walking... and nearly toppled over in surprise when a foam caricature of a man in a dark robe popped up before him in an expression of pure, if silly, rage. "Desoleeee!", someone exclaimed from across the way, rushing up to the traveller and catching the bouncing attacker spring. "A thousand apologies, petit garcon! Judge Claude-Frollo here wasn't supposed to go off 'till we got started. But you know how he is- perhaps someone mentioned the 'G' word, ha ha!"

Sora stood, still trying to make sense of what this hyper little man was saying. He certainly looked just as odd as his talk, dressed in a riotous combination of purples and yellows, complete with a drama mask obscuring the upper part of his face and a jaunty blue chapeau. The closest approximation he could think of was that of a court jester. "Uh, thanks mister. I just didn't expect that thing popping up on me like that."

The man chuckled again, carefully tucking the puppet back into the barrel he'd hidden it in. "But of course, now we know it works. And they say you can't depend on the Courts of Justice. You are here for the Feast of Fools then, eh?"

Having taken in the various colored banners and tents being put up around the square, he could at least figure what he meant by that. He smiled. "Well, it looks like it's gonna be pretty fun... But I'm actually looking for someone."

"And so you have found someone! Congratulations!", the man replied, enthusiastically shaking the boy's hand, only stopping when seeming that he'd failed to shake the gloom the boy had been carrying into Paris with him "Ah... sorry. I know what you meant. Forgive me. A boy of your age should not bear such a heavy heart. I can see it in your eyes." Straightening up now, he gave a formal bow, "J'mappelle Clopin. Et tu?"

If only for Clopin's sake, he cracked a smile at the man. "It's Sora. I'm looking for a woman named Relena. Do you know her?"

"Relena", Clopin whispered, pacing while hunched over, muttering the name over to himself as if in deep thought. "Relena, Relena, Relena-lena-lena-Iii'm afraid you are behind the times, monsieur."

"What do you mean?", Sora replied, accidentally shouting in disappointment. "She lives here, doesn't she?"

"In a fashion", Clopin noted, for once allowing sadness to dull his merry outlook. "If it is Madame Relena you seek, monsieur, I would suggest you ask around and find out yourself. Better yet, go ask _them_.", he jerked his gloved thumb over at a pair of lightly-armored figures any visitor could tell were soldiers. They were posted at the entrance onto Main Street. Both looked grumpy.

"Guards, huh", Sora observed, sizing them up from a safe distance.

"Frollo's thugs. Ask them and they'd probably arrest you", the jester deadpanned, for once in a serious whisper, though he still pantomimed what came next. "One show trial later and- Ragga-ragga-ragga-eeeeee-CLUNK!"

Sora grimaced and touched his neck's flesh gingerly, his memories of another world that employed that gruesome practice flooding back. "Thanks for the warning, Clopin. But you don't need to worry- I'm good fighter. I've beaten things that could eat those guys in one gulp."

"Fair enough", the jester remarked, still looking over the boy's strange, strange clothes, one hand on his shoulder as he bent over. "Gypsy or no, you're a_ friend_, monsieur Sora. But I'd stave off finding Madame Relena until everyone's done with the Festival. Besides, it's a spectacle you won't want to miss!" His old jovial self again, the man jogged off to help set up the decorations.

He watched the soldiers. For a moment, Sora considered doing exactly what Clopin had warned against. He could take them. He could take them easy. Strike them both down before they drew their swords. By the time the others called reinforcements, he could be gone. It would feel _so_ good to work off some tension... _NO. I can't._Events had not yet hardened his heart so much that he would attack men without reason, no matter how angry he was now at the hand he'd now been dealt. If he could keep on going on like that for several minutes without Kairi's terrified face flashing into his mind, he might yet make it through the day.

Breathe. What, then? The jester was right. Asking around about Relena during the Festival of Fools would only draw suspicion- the last thing he wanted to do was start a fight that ruined this celebration Clopin's people had arranged. As difficult as it would be for him to enjoy this revelry now, it seemed his best option of getting in touch with the people here-

"You were looking for Relena, sir?"

Sora spun around and saw another young man who clearly did not belong here. He had a dome of blond hair and an extremely small, nearly invisible nose, but those features did not alleviate the danger sense two years of fighting Heartless and Nobodies had created going off in his head like an alarm bell. This strange-looking man might have been only a few years past Sora's age, but he was as much a veteran warrior as he.

Slowly, cautiously, he stepped forward. "Yes. Do you have any idea where she is?"

The blond man shrugged. "Not a one. But as I've learned, hang out in the local tavern long enough and you hear the tales, rumors about the place. More specifically, _that_ place." He pointed.

Keeping his hands ready just in case, Sora nonetheless gazed upon the Notre Dame Cathedral in wonder. Two square turrets split off from the main structure and towered over the city, both they and the 'base' decorated with the finest stained-glass and statuework he had ever seen in all the worlds. From within, one could still make out the sound of bells ringing from within the turrets.

"The cathedral of Notre Dame", the stranger remarked. "The locals say that a monster lives up there in the bell tower, a deformed hunchback who rings the bells every day. From that incredible vantage point, one might see all sort of things throughout the city, wouldn't they?"

"If he's real", Sora replied, still not fully relaxed with the blond man as he had been with Clopin. "My Island once had this rumor that the cave near the pier had a door to another world in it."

The irony of this statement was lost on the stranger. "No one's going to talk to you while the Festival's going on, and you don't seem to be in a partying mood", he observed neutrally. "When you're looking for a needle in a haystack, you start at the top."

"Good advice", the younger boy acknowledged, for once feeling flickers of adventure starting up again in his heart. "But how would I climb up that? They're not going to let me into that Cathedral while the Festival is going on", he noted sadly, pointing to two soldiers at the entrance. Like before, he could defeat them easily, but it would start an unwanted commotion. It wasn't worth it just to chase a rumor.

"Oh, I think you'll find a way", the stranger answered quizzically. "You look like the limber type. I'm afraid I can't follow with all this on."

Sora looked back, now seeing the hard shapes and symbols etched into inflexible carapace armor beneath the man's simple blue shirt, the same shade as his old 'Wisdom' Drive. "Then _you_ enjoy the Festival. I'll tell you what I find when I get back, Mr...?"

The stranger smirked, though not unfriendly. "I'd prefer to keep that under wraps for now. Like Madame Relena, mine is a name that'll get you a short drop and a sudden stop around here. It's best if you don't know it."

"Fair enough, Mr. _Blank_. But I won't forget.", Sora grinned mischievously, dashing down an alleyway before turning his attention to what promised to be a long climb.

* * *

Clopin had requested to his men that he be left alone in his tent until the appointed hour. It was not a request he made often. These aspiring entertainers were also his sworn brothers, after all, bonded to him in friendship somehow made even stronger by their collective persecution by the church. Yet, at the same time he knew there was precious little to his life outside the life of the gypsy entertainer. Everyone, both within the caravan and out there in the city knew the jester to be a source of great energy and mirth, able to make light of even an execution if the weight of such an event was too great to bear. The children of Notre Dame loved him and his puppet shows, his pantomimes, and he loved them back for their innocence and acceptance. Sometimes he still felt like a child himself.

Sitting here in the regal blues of his tent, with his purple mask removed, steepled fingers and his raven black hair brushed back, he had likewise let his _other _mask slip. It was not always a mask, true. Happiness was Clopin's nature from birth to death, for unlike money or friends it was something that required amazing amounts of effort for someone to take away from him. Still he could not deny how meeting the young boy named Sora had accidentally opened some old wounds.

"Relena", he whispered to the mirrors and the masks. "_Oiiii, pauve mademoiselle_... Is this your doing? Is the boy a sign, or is this simply chance? More than three years, and every day my heart still aches for you."

He might have waited two minutes, five, ten, before someone parted the curtains. "Here you are! I was starting to worry."

Clopin wasn't angry. He brushed off his tears and arched his neck backwards over the chair, beholding how the woman looked upside-down. A rare beauty she was, her dark skin and darker hair accentuating a pair of glittering green eyes. But he had known Esmerelda long enough to know well that she was more than merely eye candy beneath that simple white peasant's tunic. This one, she had fire in the belly, driven onwards by the same reckless energy as he, unable to lay low for long even in these circumstances. She was even more stubborn an apprentice than her pet goat, Djali. Perhaps if she had been many years older and of fairer skin, he might have believed her to be the reincarnation of his beloved Relena.

"Ah, madame Esmerelda, but you should know Clopin does not seek out Trouble, for Trouble is blind as justice. I suspect Trouble has tripped and fallen into mon sewer again."

Esmeralda snorted dismissively at the upside-down head. Despite all the time they had spent together in the Gypsy caravan, there were times when she failed to grasp that this was his _job_. To make people laugh. To show them a good time. The Lord knew there was too little levity in the world as things stood. "Guess again. Trouble's coming up main street, and he's not happy."

Now it was Clopin's turn to snort as he pulled his head back up, again donning the mask- Esmerelda was one of the few that had ever seen him without it. "Is he ever? Trouble makes great use of the palace, Clopin is certain. Testing out how many different ways there are to frown and scowl while he eats alone. _If _he eats."

Not even this could make her chuckle, not where their mutual antagonist was concerned... and _that _concerned Clopin. Even his leftover distaste from three years ago was but a spark before Esmerelda's inferno towards their embittered host, and she was the more reckless between the two of them. One of these days, she would go too far, and then... The inevitable results were something he dreaded above all else.

But he let none of this appear on his face. There was a show to run after all, and he was the ringleader. "Are we set, then?"

The young woman gave back a mock-military bow in the affirmative, cracking a smile at its peak. "And then some. You should get a load of some of the ugly crowd this year, I saw this one guy with a mask that-"

The jester hushed her with one finger to the lips. "Hush now, child. Let us allow the results to speak for themselves, eh?"

With that, they both strode from the tent into a blossoming rain of confetti, interspersed with all manner of wind socks and tableaus. Here a flying paper dragon, there a fat man posing as a king. He was glad to see such variety this year- he'd had a hand in making several of them of course.

He did not look at the one guest they had who was not partying or drinking. He already knew the wrinkled pale skin, upturned lip and graying hair of the famous Judge Claude-Frollo just as well as he knew his history of persecution and countenance, sitting in the upraised podium and flanked by soldiers. The same priestly purple and black robes, all the time. Clopin forced a grin onto his game face by imagining what Frollo's wardrobe might be like as he strode towards the main stage.

They did notice, though, that Frollo had a new captain of the guard. A round-faced lad with rust-brown hair complimenting rust-red armor. So young! It was amazing to think that the lad could be capable of carrying out the kinds of orders Frollo's previous elderly captain had been given, but the large, ebony hilt of the blade resting at his side spoke volumes. This one was a trained killer, and likely had been for quite some time before being summoned to Paris to serve under Frollo. _Desole._

There was no time to dwell on it. Clopin cleared his throat and arranged a formal bow to the man as though he _wasn't _the one who had burnt his Relena alive. The mask was safely in place again. Frollo would not see the slightest inkling of wrath, only a harmless, simple fool of a clown. _Let him keep on believing. No one escapes the judgement of God forever._

"A-hehehem. Gentlemen, ladies.... HERE IT IS! OUR ANNUAL FEAST OF FOOLS!"

* * *

_Why be chained bound around this cold and dismal place?_

_Not for any mortal sin, but the wickedness of abhorrent face_

_* * *_

M: Perhaps an explanation is in order. This story is set after KH2, and will detail the events of Sora's adventures in a world based off the Hunchback of Notre Dame, which I consider to be one of Disney's best animated films back in the day. I previously created a summary of such a crossover in my previous story, 'Evil's Call', but this story will go much deeper and cover large tracts of the movie's events with Sora and other characters, such as the stranger in this chapter, thrown in. I hope you enjoy it.

Owing due to lack of reception, I'll be putting my Death Note fiction on hold for now, but I'm open to requests to proceed with one or the other.


	2. Deux

**Disclaimer: See chapter 1, I don't feel like typing all of that out again.**

* * *

Deux

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_Come inside_

_Come inside and see the devil's child_

* * *

Climbing the bell tower had not been so complicated as Sora had originally thought. The first problem had simply been getting above the ground floor pavillion without anyone noticing. After that, the symmetry of the place had worked to his advantage- if he could reach one part of one 'floor' of this tower, he could reach them all by vaulting from one bit of masonry to the next, stopping only occasionally to decide the next path. So far, no one had seen him.

The second problem appeared once he had climbed up to the walkway about halfway up the towers that joined the two halves. A leaping figure, too far away to be identified but too squat-shaped to be human, making its way down the parapets at twice Sora's rate. _Who is that? The bellringing monster?_

He did not get past that much observation before problem number three arrived. Appearing out of nowhere to stop him from vaulting the rail after the mystery figure, a painstakingly familiar display of opulent white garments that fully concealed the face and skin of the wearer. Elsewhere, similar beings snapped into existence around the walkway, not only preventing a rail vault but blocking both the doors to boot.

Instinct tensed Sora's arms and legs into warrior's implements. "Nobodies... _Monsters_." A person seeing these bizarre white husks for the first time might actually consider some of them to be sort of cute right up until the point where they were tearing their foes apart with their various weapons, but Sora knew better. Though much more pleasant to look at than the abominable Heartless, Nobodies were generally far more intelligent than their dark bretheren, and more dangerous for it _if _their chosen master decreed it.

He did not see a master controlling them here, only briefly flashing through memories of the twelve men and one woman in black robes who had once directed thousands of the things. Gambler Nobodies wielding razor-tipped cards and transformative magics, who had once served Luxord. Eternally-floating Sorcerer Nobodies who used their own potent magics as both a weapon and a shield, who had served as the final guardians of Xemnas' inner sanctum. _I guess they must have found another master after I defeated them. But who in Notre Dame would have taken them in?_

It didn't matter. All that mattered now was not hesitating to fight them all off. Sora raised one hand to sky, making his own weapon snap into being just as quickly as his old enemies had appeared before him- a giant key. Like the Nobodies, someone unfamiliar with all this weapon was capable of might scoff at it... But not for very long. Certainly, by now Nobodies and Heartless alike had learned to fear the Keyblade's touch.

Not that this stopped them, or even made them hesitate. Dozens of cards flew his way and a pair of cube-shaped barriers flared up to guard their casters. These Sorcerers also enjoyed the advantage of an elevated battleground, floating over the cathedral's roof just out of reach of the railing. Undaunted, the boy warrior instead charged the Gamblers, cutting two down before the innocuous spheres of glowing silver growing in their palms could reach full size.

"No thanks, guys! Being turned into a card is not my idea of a good time." For that was exactly what had happened a few times in the past, and the transformation had never failed to grind his nerves. Aside from that little trick, the pink-tinted Gamblers were actually one of the weaker kinds of Nobody, and before long he'd managed to whittle down their numbers to nothing. All the same, he could not help but imagine how much easier doing so would have been with his friends there.

Donald should have been off to one side, energetically blasting at the Sorcerers with his own elemental magic, healing Sora and the rest whenever things got tight. Goofy should have been fighting alongside him with gentle-hearted courage and might, capable of withstanding blows even Sora would have had difficulty shrugging off. Riku should have been there, watching his back in a way that only best friends were capable of doing, the only one Sora knew who had ever mastered the powers of Darkness without losing his heart to them. Together, they could defeat anything. They _had_ defeated anything, everything Organization XIII had thrown at them.

_Kairi_ should have been there...

But they _weren't. _He was alone. There was no one here to watch his back except for himself- already, the Sorcerers had tagged him with their shots a handful of times. He responded in kind, hurling the Keyblade directly into one of them, knocking it several stories down but not out of the battle entirely. In the time it took to spin around and draw a bead on the other one, the Keyblade had rematerialized in his good hand as it always did. A second quick toss destroyed the Sorcerer's barrier, leaving it open for the third to finish it off.

Sora looked around. All that remained now were the two guarding the doors- Nobodies of a type he had never seen before. Slightly shorter and thinner than the Gamblers, they wore both a seamless white mask concealing their true faces as well as a large hood over top of it, decorated with various symbols. The hood also extended down to wrap the rest of the body in garish white, comically large sleeves eclipsing any arms they might have had. Only now did they raise these large sleeves to the pristine blue sky above, as if in prayer.

Whatever they were doing, he wouldn't wait to find out. Dashing over to one, he was surprised when the creature did not resist, did not even manifest any kind of weapon to fight him with. It simply allowed itself to be bisected by the Keyblade, priestly robes fluttering to the ground before-

Unable to help himself, Sora cried out as more cards pierced his backside. _What?! Did I miss one? _Sure enough, there was a Gambler sitting there at the other side of the walkway, near the new Nobody, but something was different. Before now, he had never seen a Nobody with what could only be described as a white halo hovering over its head. Looking closer, he was even more surprised to see slash wounds decorating the creature's garments- he had made every one of them.

Nor did the shocks end there. In the space of seconds, he had slashed through the Gambler several more times; to absolutely no effect. Attacking it did not even slow down its casting of the same annoying transformation sphere as before, which Sora was careful to dodge. In that same space, he also saw the new Nobody pray a second time. To their left, an injured Sorcerer rose up with a halo decorating its head.

Though admittedly far from the brightest person on the Destiny Islands, he had seen enough. _Those ones can return their allies to life and make them invincible! I've got to take that one out before it does the same to- ARGH!_

Losing concentration had allowed the revived Sorcerer to tag him with the strange magic cubes it used to create it's barrier. By the time he'd recovered from that, the barrier had imposed itself between him and the new Nobody... which was again raising its massive robe sleeves in silent prayer to revive another one of it's buddies. _What is this?! I've never encountered that kind of Nobody before. Sure, there are Heartless that can heal their allies, but this? Who commands them?_

He'd had enough. Nimbly dodging another card barrage took him onto a nearby statue of some ancient saint. Before the second Sorcerer could revive as well, he'd made it up to the next ledge and well away from a lost battle.

* * *

"Look at that disgusting display", Judge Claude Frollo observed in chagrin at the crowd, the ire of his dulcet tones aimed at his new captain in particular but not averse to the ears of all near him. "Peddlers, clowns, shysters, the dregs of humankind, all mixed together in a shallow, drunken stupor. I will _never _understand its appeal to the rabble."

"_Once a year, we throw a party here in town!"_

Strong and stoic beside him, as seemed to be his default setting, Captain Hyral shrugged noncommittally at the semi-legible drinking song erupting before them in the crowd. "Agreed, minister. I don't doubt this would be the perfect diversion for pickpockets, either. I'll send some of the men to mingle with the crowd."

Frollo gave him a disdainful snarl. "Why bother? They bring this upon themselves in being lured here to watch gypsy heresy. You clearly have not spent much time here in Paris, Captain. We are infested with heathen parasites, and this is the one time of year their nest is allowed to appear in broad daylight. Because of softhearted politics, we cannot interfere."

"_Every clown's a king and every king's a clown!"_

"And the other 364 days of the year, sir?"

Inwardly pleased that his new Captain had caught onto the real war so fast, he leaned in closer to the lad. "It is called the 'Court of Miracles', my boy. A sanctuary hidden from the eyes of Notre Dame. Yet in twenty years, my men have not found the slightest inkling of it beyond the name."

Hyral nodded in understanding. "Impressively resolute, these people, however misguided they may be."

"_It's a day a devil in us gets released!"_

Frollo tightened both fists and fixed Captain Hyral with a warning glare, the kind that had broken the will of corrupt nobles and sympathetic peasant-folk alike. "I stopped finding their resolve admirable long ago, Captain. Now it is merely... _aggravating_. We alone maintain the Justice here in Paris. We alone purge the people's forever-sinning hearts, do all we can to save their souls from eternal damnation in the hereafter. _We_ saved these people's lives three years ago. And _what_do we receive in return for these services? Naught but secrecy and resentment. No, these outsiders are not adversaries to be admired, nor to be underestimated. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, sir." Deciding it unwise to discuss the matter further, the captain returned his attention to searching the crowd for irregularities. There were jugglers and dancers and sping-mounted mannequins of every color and description, though only now had some kind of structure been imposed on the festival, with the floats being paraded out through the square for the approval of their massive audience. He had not been in town long enough to be sure, but would estimate that fully half the city's population had turned out for the gathering. It had only been through the soldiers positioned around their pavillion that they had been able to speak at all above the growing din.

Beside him, the minister suddenly let out a gasp, growing even paler than usual. "Impossible...!"

"Are you all right, sir?"

_"Because everything is Topsy-Turvy at the Feast of Fools!"_

Recovered in the space of a second, Frollo merely tipped his purple and black-cushioned hat. "A moment, Captain. The stench of this hovel may be having a worse effect than I realized." With that, he ducked away from the podium to take his leave among an escort of two.

This suited Captain Hyral just fine, as he had just spotted his own impossibility. Unlike the minister, he knew better then to chalk it up to the cheap alcohol wafting around the place. Sometimes impossible coincidences just happened. It was up to each person whether they would run from them, or use them to their advantage.

"Take over, Jaques", he called to his top suboordinate, a muscular, chestnut mustachioed fellow bearing a fancy family crest on his armor from the steps down the minister's podium. "I'll be back shortly."

His target didn't see it coming until it was too late. Immersed thoroughly in the crowds despite having partaken of no drinking and little revelry, he must have believed himself protected against the suspicious eyes of Frollo's men. After all, there were a great many citizens his age clustered around the semicircle of tents, and just as many bearing mops of youthful blond hair. He had not counted on someone he had known for the majority of his life to be searching the crowd for rabble-rousers, nor for that person to be able to take autonomous action against him with no sign from the soldiers that something was up. As it was, he did not start to move away from the crowd's epicentre until he'd spotted him forcing the crowd to part around him with the combined weight of his authority and his strange-hilted sword. By then, it was only enough to get him out of sight and into a dead-end street before that strange sword extended out and ripped a gash in back of the other man's blue shirt.

"I never dreamed you'd show up here of all places, _Ramza_", Captain Hyral spoke up icily behind his old friend, pressing his sword into the armor beneath it so he could not move without being cut. "Why would a wanted heretic take refuge in the most devoutly religious city in the entire kingdom?"

"You left out that it's the top refuge for political outcasts in the kingdom, _Delita_", the young man replied almost as smoothly, though his retort was curbed by the affection for another they still shared from when they were teens. He did not try to move. "And I should be asking you the same question- why are _you_ here in this world? Still playing the church's lapdog?"

"_Playing_", Delita emphasized. "And not for much longer. Pretty soon, I'll have the power I need to make the changes I've always wanted. No one will ever die again for getting in the way of a noble's bloody ambition."

"Only for getting in the way of _yours_", Ramza Beoluve countered him, still unable to turn around and face him with the sword against his back, building more pressure now as its wielder drew close enough to whisper into his ear.

"You know my friend, it's a good thing your hair's that color."

"Why?"

"Because it makes you look a lot more like _him_."

He did not need to be told which 'him' he spoke of. This particular 'him' haunted the youngest Beoluve just as often as it did Delita Hyral, despite the fact that he was long dead. "It _wasn't _our fault, Delita."

"Sure it wasn't. All your brother did was hand him a crossbow to shoot her in the heart with. Clearly no involvement there at all. But enough of this speculation." The sword's pressure abruptly lifted, at last allowing him to turn around and face his friend eye-to-eye as he spoke. "Go home, Ramza. You can't do any good here. These fortune-tellers and palm-readers might oppose the church with all their hearts, but they're no rebel army. Continue to interfere, and I'll have to kill you." The heat in his eyes left no doubt that he would. All he would have to do is take a moment to imagine his friend with flattened hair with a single curl of blond, an upturned lip much like Minister Frollo's, and a slightly taller build.

That was how he always did it, though he took great care not to mention his little mind game to anyone. He had killed Algus Sadalfas at least a dozen times now. More were to come. However many it took to accomplish his goals, here in Notre Dame.

* * *

Amazingly, the sounds of the celebrating crowd below did not significantly diminish once Sora had managed to swing his way up to the topmost levels of the bell tower. If anything, they had grown. From here they appeared a matte of every possible color, packed together almost to the point of overflowing the square. The occasional balloon floated up to his level on random air currents, as if taunting him before ascending beyond mortal reach.

Sora forced himself to look away and ducked into the structure itself. Though he had been a good climber since he had been old enough to realize it, no human could feel entirely safe exposed at this altitude; especially not when there were Nobodies chasing you. Though the grid of ceiling beams he now tread upon was equally precarious, he nonetheless relaxed considerably once inside, beholding the massive bells for which this mighty tower was named.

There were rows and rows of them all on ropes and brackets, of varying size and shape, all in regal bronze and kept in surprisingly good condition. As little as a year back Sora might have yielded to the temptation to ring them just for fun, even though it would blow his cover. With the way the roof above his head curved towards the windows such as the one he'd entered through, the sounds of these massive bells could echo their time and date out across the entire city. As it was, he contented himself with shouting "Helloooo!" into one of the tall ones and listening to the distorted timbre.

Only one thing was missing here- the supposed 'bell-ringing monster'. Curious, he dropped off the rafters and into a proper living space, complete with cabinets and a broom. What really stood out however, was the model on the table in the centre. Even someone new to the city as he could tell it was a model of the very cathedral he had just climbed, complete with dozens of wooden replicas of the townsfolk!

"Amazing", he gasped involuntarily. Something had to be said for it, considering where he'd found it. The more he looked, the more the detail became apparent. Statues and motifs just as intricate as the real ones outside layered the stone edifice all the way up. The carefully crafted joining walkway, this one thankfully devoid of Nobodies. Bright paints duplicating the massive stained-glass windows that both the real towers had. Most amazing of all was something that did not occur to him until he tried walking out of the room- the model cathedral was too big to fit through the door, or even the windows he'd entered through! _Someone made this entirely in this room, _he realized with a shock._ And they're not even done yet! _For several featureless blocks of wood lay off to one side of the table along with a carving knife and brush. The blocks would no doubt eventually be carved and painted into more models. It was a strange, fantastical sight in the mind of a boy who had experienced a lifetime's worth of strange, fantastical sights.

Still no bellringing monster. Sora was sitting on one of the chairs, idly wondering if the Nobodies had attacked him too, when a sharp cry from below- and the silence that came after- called him to the main balcony.

"Wow", he remarked at the sight below. "No wonder he's not here!"

* * *

_Our passion play's at last begun_

_How long to wait before two are one?_

* * *

M: Since the other two 'visitors' to Notre Dame are from Final Fantasy, I don't consider this to be a crossover, but feel free to correct me. Fast update I know, but only because it was requested. I intend to update once a week barring any unseen problems.


	3. Trois

Disc: None of the properties being combined here are my property. I'm not 100 percent sure about the French used either.

* * *

Trois

* * *

With Clopin's help and two others trying to get the throng of people back to some semblance of organization, Esmerelda calmly studied the line of masked men who had submitted themselves for what usually served as a capper on the day's craziness. As usual, no women wanted in, save for one old crone a decade back who had been crowned a 'queen' of fools, or at least that was what old Clopin had told her about it.

The professional eye of a woman trained into a career of tricks requiring speed of eyes and hands finally managed to spot her favorite to win- the short guy who'd blundered into her tent, clearly demonstrating his intent to win this 'King of Fools' contest by wearing his 'ugly' mask before the contest even began. For some reason, he was lingering with the crowd, but she could recognize that swollen eye, pallid skin and jagged teeth from a mile off. Without hesitating, she strode over and helped get him up onto the stage instead. Now though, the crowd focused on her return to it, wondering if she was going to squeeze in a second dance number before the end-show started.

_Interesting contrast_, she couldn't help but think, _hundreds of men here waiting to see me do one of the very things we're condemned for. And even now they'd forsake that nice rich cathedral behind us if I'd just do my dance again without my dancing outfit on. Or any outfit. Yuck. _It was an old horse, and one she'd gotten over long ago, back when she was first beginning to develop, to realize that she was slowly becoming a beautiful young woman by anyone's standards. Cardinals and ministers could prothelyze until their faces turned blue, but the fact remained that there were others in this city and everywhere else forced into worse straits than she. Who was she to begrudge them using their body to make a living in a far less-dignifying way? As a mere token gesture, she stepped back over to the start of the line with an alluring wink directed to none other than gray-haired Judge Claude-Frollo, one of many men in the clergy who would begrudge the city any such form of entertainment, legal or otherwise. _Let the old sourpuss chew on that for a while. Now, let's see what we've got here._

"And NOW!", Clopin proclaimed brightly, drawing her attention back. "The ugliest face here shall be crowned the 'king of fools' for a day!" _And retain their throne until next year, at least. _A ceremonial thing, but one that always got eager applicants. At least their names would never be forgotten.

Following his hand signal, she walked down the line, drawing off each mask in turn. Each one indeed bore a homely visage, each one straining to distort their faces in an even more gruesome angle. Each one booed by the crowds and casually booted from the stage by Djali's horns following behind. Without facing Clopin, the goat's owner gave a satisfied smirk. _Ha. Didn't think so. All the truly ugly guys either won before and can't compete this year, or joined a caravan. That short guy's a shoo-in if he's any better than his mask._

Sure enough, the rest of them weren't enough for this crowd's appetite either. Sweeping them from their ten seconds of fame, she came upon the last one, the short guy in green. Strangely, he didn't seem so thrilled to be here, but he didn't resist her grasp on his mask until she realized just how hard it was attached to his face. _Geez. What did he do, put molasses on it?_

No. This wasn't right. She stopped grappling with it, shocked into submission. "This...!", she stammered helplessly over a curious audience. "This isn't a mask!"

"It's his face!", a woman behind her concluded, abjectly , a man: "It's the bellringer of Notre Dame! It must be!" Glancing over more by accident than any desire to, she saw Frollo and his new captain similarly taken back. No one had come expecting to see an old Parisian legend brought to life, nor that he would be so... so...

She looked at the bellringer. Though quite possibly the ugliest human being she had ever laid eyes on in a life of bearing witness to malformed individuals, his expressive face communicated his fear perfectly. Who wouldn't be scared, with the way the people were gaping at him and murmuring in fear to themselves? And _she _was responsible for it. _She _had forced him up on the stage against his will. She had put him in the spotlight. But what could she do?

"L-l-ladies and gentlemen, please! Remember, we asked for the ugliest face in all of Paris, and _here he is_! QUASIMODO!"

Falling back from her mistake, Esmerelda smiled in relief. Good old Clopin. With just a few words he had turned a possible disaster into an event no one would forget. The legend brought to life, here in their own city- the bellringer of Notre Dame, here in the flesh. Even for her, that was hard to grasp, yet here he was. No sleight of hand could fake this deformed eye and unhinged jaw, nor the growing excitement upon them as he realized that his presence here wasn't bad. Not at all. It was all going to be alright. Without missing a beat, she climbed up again and placed over his chestnut brown hair the floppy jester's cap that was meant to be a crown.

That was all she could do before others carried him off- though she would expect him to be heavy with that hump, they had no trouble moving him to the 'king's' podium from which Clopin had first announced the start of the festival, positioned so as to come full circle, back to the beginning. The confetti remained thick in the air, but in returning this way, they'd come close enough to see Judge Claude Frollo's assembly of guards flanking the man himself. Perhaps it was because of her hatred for him that she was the only one to catch the look of abject fear that now held his face, eyes wide, skin even paler than usual.

_What's your problem, your majesty? Are your robes a bit too tight?_

Well, never mind about the old sourpuss. This was to be Quasimodo's time in the sun, and already his skin bore a brighter hue than Frollo had ever known. Healthy and pink despite what must have been a reclusive existence no matter where he'd been hiding, he looked as carelessly happy as a child, bracing his head to the warm afternoon sun. Perhaps he still was one, deep down. There were a thousand mysteries and myths about their honored guest that Esmerelda could not wait to pry at. She could not help it. He was just so... _interesting_.

For this day however, she would have settled on figuring out precisely who had thrown the first tomato.

No one had seen it coming. One second Quasimodo had been ravishing in the adoration of hundreds, at once so excited that he might burst. The next, he was clearing away globs of sticky red paste, regarding the crowd with a child's fear of the unknown. Why had this happened?

"Now THAT's ugly!", she heard one of the soldiers remark out of Frollo's earshot. To her growing apprehension, this got quite a few laughs.

"Hail to the king!" Another wet splat preceded a fatter soldier's sarcastic remark on the situation. If only it had been the soldiers doing this, she might not have felt such sorrow at the sight of rotten fruit pelting their guest even as he scrambled about in confusion. Every peasant knew they were no one's friend.

If only.

_No... this is all wrong..._

She saw Quasimodo fall, slipping on the juice that now coated him. More mocking laughter was his reward- at him, not with him. Everyone was getting in on the act now that it had become apparent just how amusing it was to watch the hideous animal comically slip and slide about, blinded and helpless. See how dumb and ugly the animal is. Isn't it funny to watch it panic? Still stuck behind rows of jeering peasants, she could just make out the look of fear on the bellringer's face. It was indeed a look more common to animals than men, but even the most primitive man did not deserve this. On the other side of the square, she could see Clopin struggling to get in there and help the boy, but not even Djali could easily penetrate this increasingly unruly mob.

Now ropes were getting into the act, someone realizing that Quasimodo would not simply cower in fear of them forever. There were two to bind his legs and three for his torso, but more came on steadily when they realized that this clumsy animal they were tormenting was getting angrier by the second with their game. Indeed, it was not until the fifteenth rope crossed his back that the bellringer's unprecedented strength failed him. Either depleted of wrath or simply too humiliated to care, the hunchback sunk to his knees, motionless before the storm.

She was too late. Either her sudden appearance or a spark of guilt had stopped the barrage and left the crowd in awestruck silence, but the damage was done. No one spoke as the boy lay curled up amid the ropes, drenched in smelly juice that stung his eyes into grapefruit-sized knots studded with tears.

_This shouldn't have happened, this abject cruelty._

Past caring for the caravan's reputation, she made sure to fix as many onlookers as she could with a glare of murder. Not even the soldiers tried to stop her as she beheld the whimpering creature left on the stage, removing a long knife from her pouch.

The creature recognized it and somehow withdrew further still into a fetal position, assuming that she intended to finish things and end his suffering. It was not this reaction that occupied her attention however, but the familiar drawling of Judge Claude-Frollo: "You, girl! Get down from there."

_Concerned for my safety? Yeah right. _"Yes, your majesty. Just as soon as I free this poor creature."

Infuriated, the minister rose from his seat. "I forbid it!"

_That _did it. For years on end she had wanted to make it clear to this man that his brand of justice was not welcome. That it was in front of half the town only made severing the tangle of ropes atop the hunchback all the sweeter. If only she had thought to wear Relena's old robes today, the message she'd wanted to send would be clearer still. As it was, Clopin still placed both palms to his mask, moaning in dismay. _Ohhh non-non-non-non-Mademoiselle Esmerelda... You have finally pushed too far._

But for once, she didn't care. What was the point of resisting if you never said a word in complaint? Would he have her wait until she was old as he before igniting the people's hearts? Whatever the case, she was long past caring for Clopin's definition of safety. The soldiers and ministers were one thing, but now she intended this message for everyone in the square, and emphasized and postured as such. They had to be told, for their own good as well as his.

"You mistreat this poor boy the same way you mistreat my people", she lectured, dividing scorn between her targets but rapidly finding more to scorn in Frollo's grim visage and hook nose, uglier as it was to her now than even the hunchback's. "You speak of justice. Yet you are cruel to those most in need of your help!"

"SILENCE!"

"JUSTICE!"

Just like that, the spell was broken. People in the crowd felt as though they could move and talk again, though most were content to watch the confrontation between the minister and an enraged gypsy with only the occasional murmur. No one would ever forget what they had witnessed on this day. Towards the rear, she could see a blond boy she did not recognize smiling at her, which only made her feel uncomfortable.

Nor was Frollo stunned into silence by her rebuke. He glared back, darkness gathering on his brow such as only lady Relena had ever seen before. "We have destroyed women more wicked than thee. Mark my words, girl. You. Will. PAY for this insolence."

She wasn't moved by it. He was very good at what he did, Esmerelda had to admit that, but to back down now would be a surrender. She had come leagues too far to surrender now. A picture of wrath to mirror Frollo's own, she impulsively raised Quasimodo's floppy little cap, ravaged as it was by the crowd. "Then it appears we've crowned the wrong king all along. The only fool I see around here is YOU."

* * *

"Captain? Arrest her."

These orders, delivered so-matter-of-factly, jolted Captain Hyral out of an awed silence he hadn't even realized he'd been shocked into. Not very many people would ever be willing to trade verbal blows in front of a crowd the way Minister Frollo and that energetic hearthrob before him had just been. At least not while sober, though he bet that Ramza could have matched either of them with righteous rhetoric of his own if he'd been their enemy. His old friend was always very good at that, even back in the academy.

Still, orders were orders. As interesting as her tirade had been, it was time to put an end to it. With a wave to Jaques, he rallied a passel of soldiers around the stage where the mouthy gypsy and the still-paralyzed hunchback waited within the minute.

The gypsy girl did not seem terribly concerned with the court of swords facing her, however. Indeed, rather than fleeing, she glanced around in a circle to count the armed men closing on her. "Let's see here, one two three four five, six seven eight nine...", she stopped, facing Delita head on before breaking into stage tears, crying into a velvet purple hankerchief. "So there's ten of you, and one of me. Oh, what's a poor girl to do?"

He was but three paces away from being able to draw his sword on her when what looked like another sob turned into an eruption of colorful powder. Ignoring the way it tickled his tiny nose, he searched the stage to find... nothing.

_What?! She's a dancer! She had no magicks! How did she...?_

No one here had any answers to his flurry of questions; even the minister simply leaned back from the smoke, whispering "Witchcraft" to himself sullenly. "Search the square", Hyral ordered his men hastily. "Check every hiding spot. Don't let her escape."

A good number of these men were naught but uncomplicated thugs, but he was sure that Jaques at least would not let them slack off. Meanwhile, the crowd was beginning to thin out, apparently convinced that the theatrics were finally over; even their tormented bellringer disappeared into thin air along with any sense of merriment. They would never forget this festival to be sure, but neither would they look back fondly upon it.

More precious minutes passed. Like the peasants, his men were now spreading out to search the square in a growing circle of patrols, while a smaller retinue were escorting Frollo out of his sight, back towards the opulent Palace of Justice. No one wanted to stick around the square, especially with the clouds overhead thickening as they were. Soon enough, the rain began.

Then he heard it. A faint sneeze, caught on the wind but unmistakable. Coming in the direction of the Cathedral.

_Of course_, he thought, on the verge of slapping himself but for the sword he held ready. _Why didn't I see it earlier? No one's going in there now, not after a festival, not after what they've just seen. _Sure enough, he hadn't set ten feet inside the famous cathedral's entry foyer when instinct called his sword up behind him to block a long knife descending from behind. A circle of tall candlebra warmly illuminated the face of the girl who weilded it, rolling away just as fast to prevent a counter-stroke.

"Nice trick", he couldn't help remarking at her. "Know any Wizards, by chance?"

"Guess", the girl replied sulkily, coming at him with a second lunge. A soldier watching them might have concluded that the reach of his special sword gave the Captain a large advantage, that was only partially true. Having less pommel to handle only made a long knife stronger and harder for him to beat his way past, and he had seen enough combat in his time to get to know some very skillful knife-fighters. This girl- Esmerelda, wasn't it?- would be one more of that honoured category.

All the same, she was tired, wet and angry. He was almost certain he could have killed her. He just couldn't yet find a reason to, and not just because it was hard to imagine Esmerelda's beautiful body with Algus' hair and face on it. _Why bother?_, he reasoned over the clash of blades. _She's not in my way. Her only enmity is for the Minister. No one else is watching. _"And a sharp tongue to boot", he observed casually, referring not to the present but her earlier tirade. "You must truly hate him, to make such an outburst".

"Try spending more time here. Maybe you'll see what I'm talking about", she shot back over a slice at his sword arm, trying to mimic his flippant attitude but still too passionate to do so credibly. "Outcasts, beggars, 'heretics'... Minister Claude-Frollo persecutes them all under the crown's say so, and too bad for anyone who gets in his way."

"Well believe it or not, I can see where you're coming from", Hyral replied, parrying a fast jab at his groin before backing off. "I was a commoner, you know. My sister and I, we were orphans of the Thirty Year War."

"Really", the girl remarked flatly. Her tone bore little sympathy, but she left her knife at waist level, not wanting to continue the duel any more than he did. Perhaps she'd caught on that he'd simply been toying with her. "Forgive me if I find it hard to believe an orphaned commoner could become Paris' Captain of the Guard before he was thirty. _Especially_ one who doesn't bow and scrape for the Minister."

Captain Hyral sighed in vexation. _No respect. It's a miracle this girl's still alive at all if this is her way. _Slowly, peaceably, without any hints of an attack, he closed with her before gripping her shoulders with all his strength. He could feel her struggle, but not enough to break his hold. He leaned in close, enunciating carefully and precisely: "You cannot say the stars do not keep watch over _you_, my lady Esmerelda. What if I were one of those tin can boors Frollo has placed in my charge? They'd have their way with you before the end, you can be sure of that."

"They'd die before then", she hissed back scathingly.

"Perhaps. You are a skilled one, I'll grant you that. You fight almost as well as a man, and I've never seen magicks like that before. _Use_the talents you've been given, then. Help those you say need aid so badly." Just as quick as he'd grabbed hold of her, the Captain now released the girl with such force that she fell down to the tiled floor, certainly able to sense the firey anger he carried in both statement and action. "But don't blame _us_."

He looked as through he was about to say more when the door behind them creaked open, spilling both the waning daylight and Minister Frollo's entourage into the foyer. "Blame yourself, or God", he finished quietly.

"Excellent work, Captain", Frollo cut in from behind them, his elation clear. "I should have known she'd not go far."

"I'm sorry, sir", the Captain answered, trying his honest best to sound disappointed. "She claims Sanctuary."

This only threw the older man for a moment, though. "Then drag her outside. She's-"

"_Enough_, Frollo!", a fourth voice cut in, gruffer by far and possibly older than the Minister. The cathedral's swarthy bishop regarded the entire assemblage with ire, placing one robed sleeve around the girl protectively. "She claims Sanctuary. You'll not touch her."

For one amusing beat, Hyral swore he could see steam erupting from the Minister's ears, but he remained silent. "Don't worry.", the bishop repeated for the benefit of everyone present. "Minister Frollo years ago to respect the sanctity of the church. We of the Order of Rheims offer shelter to all who need it, even those of different faith..."

"Indeed. We. Do.", Frollo ground out glacially slowly, unable to take his furious gaze from Esmerelda or the elderly man who had saved her from him. "Leave us."

So leave they did, but none of the soldiers tried to stop their Captain from hanging back near the double doors, just barely able to make out the voices issuing through the crack. The first was Esmerelda; petulant, then angry and confused: "How's Brother Jehan, your honour? ...OW! What are you _doing_?"

"I was just imagining a rope around that beautiful neck", came Frollo's reply, followed by a grunt of his own as her elbow took him in the gut and she pushed him away. "I know what you were _imagining_."

Spurned, the Minister was only thrown for a second, marching off towards the doors with his hands steepled "Have it your way, then. You've chosen a magnificent prison, girl. But it is a prison, nevertheless. I have guards posted at every doorway. Set one foot outside, and you're _MINE_."

* * *

_Masquerade, masquerade_

_Paper faces on parade_

_Hide your face so that the world may never find you..._

_* * *_


	4. Quatre

Disc: Kingdom Hearts and the other properties it crosses over with aren't mine.

* * *

Quatre

* * *

_Mea culpa_

_Mea culpa_

_Mea maxima culpa_

* * *

Sora had been hoping for some action, but not before he was done eating. The bellringer's lair had contained a fair amount of bread, fruits and other produce, and just the knowledge that it was there was enough to set off his stomach, as he had not had anything to eat since first stepping into this World. He had been idly munching on a cheese wedge when he heard the scream undulating upwards from several floors below. Not the bellringer, but someone in distress for certain.

Casually stretching back in his chair, he peered out the window to locate the source. No luck there, but by bending back further still he rocked the chair over and somesaulted out the window into action.

As he'd expected, it was the Nobodies. One of the floating Sorcerers from before and three of the strange dancing Dusk Nobodies were attacking the dark-skinned girl he'd seen at the festival. Though she still held onto the knife she'd used at the festival, it was obvious she'd never fought creatures like these before.

"Come ON", Sora remarked as he caught the Sorcerer right off, bisecting it. "You guys can't even cut a fellow dancer a break?"

The Dusks were not amused. Stopping their gracefully threatening acrobatics, they came at Sora as a mob, their cartwheels and backflips serving only to disguise their limbs randomly flashing out to strike. Under other circumstances he might have been in trouble, but Dusks were the single most common type of Nobody in 'non-existence'. Anyone who had fought as many of them as Sora had was used to their tricks by now and knew how to counter them. Before long, all three were down without landing a single hit.

Behind him, the girl stood, harried but uninjured. "Thank you. Did you see the bellringer on your way down?"

Shrugging, he faced her, resisting the urge to act macho. "No. Is that why you're up here?"

Something about her face made him think this was not a pleasant topic for her, but she nodded. "I wanted to apologize, but he kept running away. I don't blame him... But when I got close, those _things _attacked me."

"They're Nobodies", Sora explained, searching the upper levels of the bell tower for some sign of movement as he spoke. "Incomplete beings without hearts- long story. They attacked me when I was climbing the bell tower too... Darn."

"What?", she asked, only now sizing up her rescuer and realizing how foreign he really was. "What is it?"

"They attacked me when the hunchback was climbing down the tower and passed near me", he said, downcast at the implications. "They didn't attack _him_either time. And they stopped the moment I left him alone. I think that whoever's controlling these Nobodies assigned them to keep people away from the bellringer."

The visage of the Dusks and Sorcerers still vivid, she shuddered. "That's _cruel. _Oh, and his name is Quasimodo. Mine's Esmerelda."

"Right. I'm Sora, I saw you in the festival. You're a really good dancer!"

"I know", she replied with a mischievous grin and a wink. "Old Clopin taught me from when I was just a kid."

"Clopin, huh? I saw him before the festival. Is he-"

"Just our caravan's leader. I'm an orphan." She sighed. "All the same, I hope he's alright. We didn't part on the best of terms, you know."

"I'm sure he is. Anyways, back to the problem; if we try to find this Quasimodo, we'll end up facing more Nobodies the closer we get to him. Those Dusks were just the start."

Sora saw her shift uncomfortably beside him at the prospect, but then straighten her lip with a will to set things right. "No. I can't run away now. I have to _see_him. I have to apologize. Don't worry Sora; I can hold my own. You can beat them, right?"

His turn to feel uncomfortable. All the same, he'd never backed down from a request like this before, and he likely never would. It just wasn't within him. "Uhh, sure. Sure I can. Buuut... if you see any Nobodies with poofy sleeves and masks, I need you to keep them busy until I can get to them, okay? They're _nasty_."

"I'll try", she offered nervously. "But if they're the toughest ones-"

"They don't attack", he noted. "At least, I don't think so. Just get them if you see them. Other than that, stick near me."

"Got it."

* * *

Once again the Nobodies came, and once again they fell to the Keyblade's power. Sora was right at home, as much as he disliked the feeling of familiarity at destroying the white husks that now confronted them at every turn. Thankfully, Esmerelda had been as good as her word to him. None of the new type, which she dubbed 'Priest Nobodies' upon seeing them, had a chance to revive their allies, unable to concentrate with someone slashing them with a knife as she danced about. Aside from the odd incident where Esmerelda was transformed into a card, and again when a Sorcerer had attacked them mid-climb, it wasn't nearly as bad as Sora had come to expect from Organization XIII's armies. These ones seemed content to attack in paced waves instead of a nonstop onslaught, allowing them a few periods of rest in-between.

"You really are something else, Sora", she observed elatedly during one such 'slack' period. "Anyone else in this country would have died fighting monsters like that."

"Well, I do have a lot of experience with them", he noted humbly. "Them, and the Heartless. Any good weapon like your knife works, but the Keyblade is their biggest weakness."

Glancing up through the rafters above, she realized that they were directly below the belfry, and so dropped her voice a notch. "Obviously you didn't come here just to fight Nobodies, though. Why did you come to Notre Dame?"

He _had_momentarily forgotten why, in fact. Esmerelda's words brought back still-fresh memories of his home on Destiny Island. "It's a long story. Again. But to cut it short... I'm from a different world. My friends- Riku, Kairi, Donald and Goofy- are all in great danger. Someone told me that the only way I could save them was to track down a few people who could help me, and that the Keyblade would lead me to their worlds when I called out their names. So I started with 'Relena', and it brought me here. You know the rest."

She blinked, obviously just as familiar with that name as Clopin had been. "That's some key. But Sora... I'm sorry, I don't think you'll be able to find Relena here. I can't be certain, but everyone in Notre Dame believes she's dead."

He stopped short, nearly falling from a parapet. "Dead? How?!"

"Long story", she echoed back knowingly. "Ask Clopin some other time."

Far from appeased, he peered upwards at their goal from a four-way intersection of large wooden beams. "I just hope they didn't lie to me about those names; it's all I have to go on. Oh. Hey, we have Nobodies incoming."

Esmerelda glanced upwards just in time to see Priests and Gamblers dropping down from above, enough to surround them on all four sides. "They never learn." Inwardly however, she cursed their luck. _Not good. The Priests are far enough apart to revive each other, and if we make a single mistake, we'll fall off the beams. At the very least, we'll be all the way back where we started if we survive the fall at all. _"Take the east Priest, I've got the west. Good luck."

"You too."

Both tensed, but the charge never came. Even the other Nobodies were distracted when the massive bellringer dropped down from floors above, crushing a Priest beneath his feet with the momentum. Swerving right, he laid into a Gambler with large, misshapen arms that knocked it out a window. Apparently unwilling to attack the one they were ordered to protect, the remaining Nobodies turned and fled.

Sora turned, only now seeing the legendary monster up close for the first time. His forest green tunic was stretched out to cover the unusual hump on his back, going so far as to act as a hood for his deformed face and dirty brown hair. That face, however, was too filled with fear now to be considered threatening. Without a legible word, the hunchback tore past them and up the spiral staircase, prompting both to give chase.

"Quasimodo!", Esmerelda called out to him as they rapidly ascended to the belfry. "Quasimodo! Please don't run! I just came to apologize! I never in my life would have pulled you onto that... stage?"

She had halted on the final few steps, awestruck by what she saw. Behind her, Sora skidded to a halt- a bad move when climbing a staircase only barely your own width. By the time he'd recovered from falling down and climbed back up again, she was among the models and hanging glass sculptures that he'd seen on his first visit, momentarily at a loss for words.

"Did you... make all of these?"

No response from the bellringer. He was already in bed, pretending to be asleep. Pretending and fooling no one. She swept the sheets from him even as she beheld the massive model of the very cathedral they had just climbed. "This is amazing."

"I thought so, too", Sora followed up once he'd scrambled onto the last step by his arms. "Hands like those, and you can craft things like that?"

"I have a lot of time", Quasimodo acknowledged, no longer able to ignore such compliments. It was not a monstrous voice, nor that of the dispirited wretches Esmerelda had seen frequenting the streets pleading for alms. It was still a child's voice; deepened by puberty but nervous in the presence of anyone. "You shouldn't be here. This is my sanctuary."

"He speaks?", Sora noted mock-incredulously as he pulled himself from the stairwell the opposite way. "It's okay, Quasimodo. She's just here to apologize to you."

"Yes", Esmerelda acknowledged, at once looking remorseful. "At the festival... I thought you were wearing a mask for the contest, I didn't realize..."

"It's fine", the hunchback waved it away, again burying himself in the bedsheets. "It was my own fault- I never should have gone down here. I should've stayed in here where it's safe. The outside world is no place for a _monster_."

"What monster?", Sora asked him feigning confusion. "I didn't see you throw tomatoes at anyone, or lasso them down and mock them, or-"

"_I'm _a monster", Quasimodo corrected him bitterly, leaving no room for further argument. "This is where I belong. You should leave me. Both of you."

At first fighting not to laugh, Esmerelda knelt down tenderly over the bedspread like a mother with her child. "And who exactly fed you that _caca_?"

"My master, Minister Claude Frollo. And it's not a lie; its true. You saw what happened."

"I really should be suprised by that", she retorted, the old anger flooding back again and toning her voice with hostility. "But I'm not. At least now we know who sent the Nobodies. He wants to keep you isolated from the rest of the world for your entire life."

"And he's done a pretty good job of it by the look of things", Sora agreed with her, feeling outrage of his own at the idea that the man had forced Quasimodo into complete isolation from childhood. "What's his problem anyway?"

"Claude Frollo's got a _lot_of problems", Esmerelda answered him, looking out the sun-tipped windows thoughtfully, as if expecting to see the man she loathed suddenly pop out of one of the brick chimneys that stretched to the horizon. "I just didn't know about this one until now. Could he possibly be an illegitimate child?"

Quasimodo actually laughed at that, natural merriment forcing its way onto his features no matter how he tried to shut them both out. "No, no. He's not my father, he's my _guardian_. He protected me, took me in when anyone else would have drowned me."

"It seems there's a lot of that going around these days", Esmerelda remarked dryly. "No surprise with the war on and everything. Convenient though, that you only have Frollo's word to go by on that. How could such a cruel man raise someone so kind-hearted?"

"He is _not_ cruel!", the hunchback protested, following her to the window. "He _saved _me. He brings me food, taught me to read and write and speak. All of the wood and glass I used to make those models, he brought me. He is a great man. Notre Dame doesn't know how lucky they are to have him."

Looking back at Sora, Esmerelda shrugged helplessly, realizing there was no winning this argument without proof stronger than mere words. "Well... Maybe there's a side of him the rest of us haven't seen. Come here. Let me see your palm."

As they drew closer, Sora casually checked the windows to see what their dancer companion had been looking at. Soon enough, he found it; every single exit to the Cathedral was being patrolled by soldiers. Even the alleyway he'd used to access the bell tower was under surveillance. _I knew Esmerelda made that Frollo guy mad, but I didn't think he was __**this **__mad. The only way we're getting out of here is to fly... Pity this isn't Neverland._

"A long life line. And, this one means you're shy. Hm. That's funny. I don't see any..."

Sounding like his frightened self again, the hunchback looked up from his palm. "See any what?"

She copied his move, locking her mesmerizing eyes into his. "Monster lines. Not a single one. Now, look at me. Do you think _I'm_ evil?"

"Oh, no, not at all! You are beautiful, and kind, and good, and-"

"-And I'm a gypsy. A member of the 'order of witches' Frollo is committed to destroying. I don't know if you've checked outside recently, but he's got every path out of here blocked with either soldiers or Nobodies."

Seeing confusion in the bellringer's deformed face, Sora nodded. "I didn't see any Nobodies around, but if I fought them on the streets we'd raise enough of a commotion so that the soldiers would find us. I'm not using the Keyblade to kill people who are just doing their job."

"I wouldn't expect you to, Sora", Esmerelda acknowledged simply, lowering her eyes to hide her worry. "Sure, some of them are real jerks about it, but they're still human. We've never killed if we can help it either. So, what _can_ we do?"

"We wait", Quasimodo interrupted their planning, suprising them both. "Wait for nightfall, I can get you out then." Neither of the others had expected this, and so Sora took a good five seconds to reply: "Are you sure? If they see you-"

"Trust me", the hunchback assured him, smiling and at last regaining the warm skin and desire for camaraderie that had first brought him to the Festival of Fools. "I may be a monster, but I'm a talented monster. Wait for nightfall, and then we'll fly."

* * *

The hallways of the Palace of Justice were cold that night. Even if the reconstruction project from three years ago was 100 percent complete, Captain Hyral doubted it would serve to keep in what warmth there was very well. The entire place seemed more dedicated to ceremony and intimidation than comfort, featuring a massive frontal spire at the entrance that was several stories taller and wider than it truly was inside. The Palace's gothic architecture was meant to impress the innocent and terrify the guilty, nothing more.

More out of a desire to find a warm room in the palace for the night than a need to report in to authority, he came upon the palace's study and the live fireplace it contained at its far end. Strangely, only one other occupant was warming himself by it, its orange light serving only to black out any features that might have identified him until the Captain had walked nearly even with him. It was Minister Claude Frollo, looking pale even with the orange firelight reflecting off him and deep enough in thought that it was possible he hadn't even noticed Delita's arrival until now. He clutched a transparent purple hand cloth tightly- a souvenir of sorts from the gypsy girl's dance that she'd bestowed on him.

"How go the patrols, Captain?", he asked quickly, as if trying to prevent the Captain from choosing the topic. His aged voice seemed diminished, robbed of the strength he'd reprimanded Esmerelda with.

"Acceptable", he decided. "I can't say I approve of putting so many men on a single assignment when there's so much else that needs doing, but they haven't complained about the shifts yet. At least we'll have lots of extra room in the barracks tonight."

"Keep them focused, Captain. I want complete surveillance of the cathedral. This gypsy girl cannot escape us, no matter what."

Unable to hold himself back any longer, he fixed Frollo in the eye. "_Why_, sir? Surely she's not the only gypsy to ever rebuke you that way, not with what I've learned of this country's history. Are you really so determined to avenge one little slight?"

He'd made the wrong choice. The fire in the hearth flared up as Frollo countered him, its wild light dancing in his eyes as they spoke. "_That_ is none of your concern, Captain. But for the sake of your education, I will enlighten you. You are no doubt aware of the underground support networks that traitors provide to the gypsies and other heathens in this city?"

"Of course, though I've yet to see one in person."

"Of course. Well, more than three years ago, that support was at an all-time low. I had thought everyone had learned their lesson after seeing the true colors of the evil gypsy Relena. Indeed, several families lost fathers and brothers to her rampage. Our people, it seems, have short memories." He wrinkled his brow in disgust and stretched the purple handcloth out as if wringing someone's neck.

"So it was actually Madame Relena who nearly destroyed the Palace of Justice three years ago?" _Strange. If it was just another prejudiced lie, why is the palace still being rebuilt?_

"It was", Frollo confirmed. "She attacked indiscriminately, slaying soldiers left and right, destroying walls and pillars with her evil sorcery, laughing all the while. It seemed nothing could stop her."

"...You?"

Frollo blinked and clapped a hand to his back. "Smart boy. Yes, stopping her was in fact what elevated my rank in the church from Judge to Minister. But in fact she did not die, she merely left us. I believe if we catch the gypsy girl Esmerelda, if we execute her as she so rightly deserves, her evil will be laid bare in the same way. This time, no one will ever forget what they see. I will make sure of it. My only concern is if we can defeat a second witch."

"Leave that to me", Captain Hyral said, bowing and wondering to himself if the Minister had been drinking against his vow of sobriety to the Order of Rheims. _No. There's more to it than that. I can't trust him to be completely honest about what happened three years ago._

"And yet", Frollo continued on, staring into the roaring fire as if he hadn't heard Hyral. "_This_was something I never expected to happen. Mayhap her witchcraft is even greater than Relena's."

"Sir?"

"All my life, Captain, I have beheld the weakness of Man from afar. Gluttony, ale and most often the darkest temptations of the flesh have inured their hearts to a wicked, impure society. All of them weak and lacking in self-control, save for me..."

He tensed up like a wanted man, simultaneously frightened and furious, and the Captainl began to realize it was not liquor that was making Frollo regard him as though he were a stranger. "It is not my fault. Not my fault! _Not my fault_! She cast a curse on me, I _know_ she did! How else could I be so inflamed by infatuation for that which I despise?!"

Having witnessed his share of magic, he was almost inclined to believe the Minister's glassy-eyed appeals. _He is in __**love **__with her? Something in the powder, perhaps? No... It would have affected the men as well were that the case. Then he must truly be... Poor man. _"Calm down, sir. Everything's going to be alright. You swore an oath, remember?"

"I did", Frollo acknowledged lamentably, gazing upon the facets of the hand cloth again, as if debating whether to use it to block any sign of tears. "Yes, yes I did. Even as this curse enslaves my heart, I cannot falter. I will not succumb to corruption." Slowly regaining control and a new determination to go with it, he cast the handcloth into the roaring blaze before them. "In the end, she will be _mine_... Or she will burn in the fires of hell forever after, and I will accept either outcome in grace. This, I swear."

* * *

Quasimodo had not been at all annoyed about having his dinner halfway eaten by Sora. Indeed, he cheerfully offered to split the remaining bread three ways between them over dusk. Over the loaf, he'd explained again why he was here, and what had brought him to the bell tower. Now that they'd pried the hunchback from his tight shell, he was actually quite talkative, trading tales and views all through the night, though Sora and Esmerelda had yet to see any sign of movement from a trio of small stone gargoyles that Quasimodo insisted were his friends, 'Victor', 'Laverene' and 'Hugo'.

"I can hardly believe it", he commented in awe while passing out a bunch of fresh grapes. "I've never seen these 'Nobody' creatures you say have been guarding the bell tower before today. Yet, your tale is too strange to be a lie. I can understand what drove your friend Riku, Sora. I came to the festival today, because I could no longer hold in my want to spend a day- just_ one _day- out there in the city." Here he slumped, remembering all too well what had happened. "But we were both in the wrong."

"Don't say that!", Sora implored him. "This tower _can't_be expected to be someone's entire world, Quasimodo. And Riku... Riku did what he thought was right; it was only Xehanort's Heartless who messed that up."

"All these other Worlds", the bellringer was remarking to himself humbly. "I only ever dreamed of seeing this one."

"One thing at a time", Esmerelda pointed out, one eye to the sky. "If you really do feel you have to stay here, then I can't stop you. I just wish you weren't staying up here out of fear. People aren't like that most of the time. I promise."

"Thank you, Esmerelda. You're very kind.", the bellringer said, both eyes veiled under his hair as he leaned back and smiled. "But I don't know if this world can ever accept a face as hideous as mine. Ugliest face in all of Paris, remember? Maybe you're right, maybe Master Frollo's right. Either way, now isn't the time to stir things up further than they already are. He'll never forgive you for insulting him the way you did, just as he'll never forgive me for disobeying his orders." Seeing the last traces of daylight finally wane from the sky, he abruptly sat up to shake his depression at the thought of it. "Let's go. The guards will be changing shifts around this time."

Witholding himself from looking to be sure, Sora looked on in confusion. "How do you-?"

"Frollo and his old Captain of the Guard arranged the schedules. About this time, all the afternoon soldiers are wanting nothing but food and sleep in their barracks."

"What about the Nobodies?"

Quasimodo blinked in surprise, then flexed one bulging arm to answer him. A lifetime of working the heavy bells in the tower had left him with deceptively powerful arm muscles beneath that deformed frame and forest green tunic. Barehanded, the deformed hunchback might have been a fair sparring match for even Riku.

A lifetime of learning to leap about the tower to ring said bells as needed had given him the legs needed to do what he did next. With Esmerelda holding on with both arms, he braced and soared from highest balcony over to the closest rooftop, that of a famous shoemaker's emporium. Watching their descent, Sora gaped. "You _can _fly." Being no stranger to high-altitude acrobatics himself, he could probably leap that same distance too, as well as make the other precarious jumps across rooftops Quasimodo was making now... But doing all of that with a passenger was another story entirely. _This guy's just full of surprises. Glad he's on our side._

Of course technically he _wasn't, _but he knew now that Quasimodo would never turn on him or Esmerelda even if Frollo demanded it. _Which brings up the matter of where __**I'm **__going to stay until it's safe to contact the Court of Miracles. _He hated to risk endangering his new friend, but there was no other place for him to spend the night. No innkeeper would take him even if they accepted his meager supply of Munny, which he wasn't sure they did. This world was very strange.

_If Frollo comes_, he reasoned as he went back to examining the models, picking up the angry-looking model of the man in question, _I'll just say that I climbed up here trying to confirm legends of Notre Dame's bellringer. It's the truth, even if it's not the whole truth. If he realizes how strong I am to be able to beat his Nobodies, he'll have no reason to fault Quasimodo for not ejecting me from the bell tower. _Inwardly, he ached to show the old creep that strength firsthand, but such violence would not go over well with the hunchback. _Strange that they follow a man like that instead of another powerful Nobody now. Are they just attracted to people with dark hearts... or is it something else?_

At last feeling the strain of a day's running and leaping and fighting wear upon his back, he settled into a chair free of such concerns. Within a few minutes, he was asleep.

_Riku... Kairi... I miss you._

* * *

_Hellfire_

_Dark fire_

_Now Gypsy it's your turn_

_Choose me or, your pyre_

_Be mine or you will_ _BURN_

_* * *_

M: Just thought I'd point out that I haven't spoiled myself for Birth By Sleep, so future chapters may contradict it somewhat. Not likely, though.


	5. Cinque

Disc: Kingdom Hearts is the fever dream of Tetsuya Nomura. Same for Square and Final Fantasy.

* * *

Cinque

* * *

Minister Claude-Frollo had seen better nights. The dark circles around his eyes were all the more noticeable in the golden light of daybreak, and even Lieutenant Jaques Du Salera was unable to stem his curiosity as he helped the groggy-seeming man from his opulent carriage in the city square. "Sir, are you alright? Did you sleep last night?"

"I had a little... Trouble with the fireplace", Frollo admitted dully. Then, just as quickly he shook himself free of his lethargy. "You reported there was no sign of escape last night. What happened?"

Immediately Jaques wished Captain Hyral were there to explain it to him, but still he fought the urge to quaver. "I sent a man up last night, when I thought she might be sleeping. No sign of her anywhere in the cathedral or the tower."

"What?!", Frollo exclaimed. "But how?! I had soldiers posted at every possible exit, all throughout the night! You saw the patrol schedules!"

Jaques tipped his old helmet helplessly, slanting his gaze to avoid the seeing the fury gathering on Frollo's brow. "I know, sir. I'm at a loss. Might she have used her witchcraft to escape the tower?"

But Frollo only considered that for a moment before dismissing it and gesturing to the cathedral, speaking briskly. "Not in this holy place. Her devilry wouldn't work. It doesn't matter now; check every house, every shop, every farm. Down to the cellars. I want that gypsy girl found, and I want her found _now_. Do I make myself clear, Lieutenant?"

Jaques gulped. Unless they got very lucky, this was going to be a long day. "Crystal, sir. Captain Hyral's leading a brigade to the outlying farmlands now. I'll send a messenger."

"Don't bother", Frollo corrected him, striding back to his carriage with purpose. "I'll deliver it myself. Someone must bring the proper tools to him, after all."

"Tools, sir?"

Now the Minister permitted himself an ironic smirk before nodding to one of the other men in his entourage. "Indeed." At his signal, the other man ripped free a large black tarpaulin covering the rear cart of the carriage, allowing the supplies that lay within to spill forth onto the cobblestones before the assembled men.

Jaques' heart sank. He knew these 'tools'. No more than two dozen simple log fragments of nonuniform size, but it was the large round item that followed which made their intent all too clear. A keg of pitch, filled to the brim, more than enough to create a makeshift torch for every soldier under his command with enough left over to light a hundred arrowheads on fire. They were the tools of the Inquisition, from over a century ago. _Mon dieu..._

But there was no time to dwell on it before Frollo's carriage rode off, bearing with it another supply cart exactly like the one they'd just unloaded to Hyral's unit up in the farmlands. A dozen horse-mounted archers followed closely behind, the echoing clopping of their hooves suddenly making the town sound quite deserted; a calm before the storm.

Jaques bent over the sloshing pitch, his reflection grossly distorted within it as he led by example, and picked up the first stick of wood in his mailed fist to submerge it's wider end within the keg. He had enlisted to bring honour to his family's name, not participate in crude terrorism. "Madness", he told the reflection curtly. "But what other choice do we have? Treason?"

No choice. He'd been right. This _was_ going to be a long day for him. And a short day for a lot of people.

* * *

Clopin had not been at Court, as Esmerelda was both annoyed and honoured to discover when she returned home. Willing to risk his own capture to find his lost apprentice, he'd taken to the streets to track her down. Though common sense had prevailed on her to sleep the remainder of the night away at home in the Court of Miracles, the task fell to her now to find their leader amidst the most active soldiers she'd seen in years. Wearing a hood and faking the voice of a far older woman now seemed like futile precautions against such scrutiny.

Just what were they doing and why? Thus far all the armored bullies had been doing was entering houses and occasionally ransacking them. To her private horror, she saw four members of the Court who had gone to ground after the festival being led in a line out of one large house, shackled with heads held low. They did not treat the guilty family much better, smashing a great deal of their furniture and threatening further retribution if they refused to tattle on their neighbors.

So it was when Clopin finally made himself known by wrapping one arm about her mouth to draw her out of sight of an approaching patrol, she bit down on it out of reflex. Huddled in the relative safety of one of the city's various sewer archways, she turned to see her mentor holding one arm in pain, although he hadn't let out a sound.

"Finally", she gasped in relief, just stopping herself from hugging her mentor. "I was starting to think you'd been-"

"Trouble's on the march", the jester intoned in his usual abstract fashion, as if he was talking to someone else altogether. Beneath their waists, Djali nuzzled his owner's legs in affection at having found her again after she'd been forced to abandon him. "A bad time for tag, Clopin thinks." Without any of his usual masks or outfits on, the jester not only had a good disguise but he made Esmerelda forget that he was twice her age. "And _you_, my dear madame, are the luckiest woman to ever taste the rich air of Paris. Just what _were _you thinking, mademoiselle?"

Esmerelda blinked. In her haste, she'd nearly forgotten that Clopin had every right to be angry with her. Without any of the colorful apparel that was his custom, he looked far more imposing. "I wasn't. That's just it. I was following my heart."

Still not looking up at her, he turned to watch the nearest patrol pushing a frightened woman along towards the Palace of Justice. Esmerelda's heart went out to her, but intervening would be suicide for both of them. "Your _heart_may well lead to the hangman's noose, madame. Clopin has not forgotten the last beautiful woman he knew who insisted on following her heart."

"I couldn't just let that poor boy suffer", she argued halfheartedly, herself remembering that day three years ago in dreadful clarity. However, neither could she forget the Captain's words to her: _Use the talents you've been given. Help those you say need aid so badly. Otherwise, you can only blame yourself or God._ "Someone had to take a stand against that self-absorbed old wretch sooner or later."

The jester sniffed the air absently. "Clopin would have preferred later. And dinner. But helping it now is within God's range alone. Where _did_you hide all night, madame? Found a new safe house, have we?"

She grinned. Even Clopin's righteous anger did not last very long, at least not when it was directed at her sentimental foolishness. He liked her too much. "A safe tower, actually. And some new friends. The bellringer you know, and this travelling warrior named Sora."

The jester's ear perked up at that. "Sora? Ah, then Clopin does know them both." He paused, sniffing the air a second time. A third. At last he raised his head, now directly eye-to-eye with her. For once, he looked worried. "Mayhap the lady has planned a barbecue?"

"Huh?" Then she smelt it too. Faint, but pungent and drawing closer. "Is something burning?"

* * *

Long before he had started on the path that had brought him here, long before he had even been a judge, Claude Frollo had learned that he stood apart from the majority of humans. In the convent he had learned it was the rottenness of mankind that prevented the Lord from saving his beloved people from the mortal world, one doomed to the ravages of time and the fell powers of the netherworld. As much as He wished to, to bring a race of evil and lies to His paradise would only taint it into another Earth. The Lord was instead required to watch, and wait, and hope to see if humanity could be saved from itself, or if His fallen disciple would be successful in rendering his once-perfect creation iredeemable.

No one in the clergy had ever suggested the former outcome likely, and Frollo could not blame them for it. Everywhere he looked in life depravity and vice held court. Men drank watered-down poisons to help them forget their misery and came home to inflict more of it upon their families. That is if they did not abandon them first, as Frollo's own father had when he was a child. Women young and old alike sold their bodies for meager money and drowned the unwanted 'side effects' in wells. Any law could be overturned if you had money, and any possession could be taken by scoundrels with less sense of decency than wild dogs.

Though he had sworn never to abandon his brother entirely, Jehan Frollo had decided his own course long before attaining manhood; he would embrace this rotten world and all it's sins. Whenever Brother Jehan wasn't getting in a bar fight, he was tangling his legs with a maid. He ate and slept on debt and shamelessly haggled and begged to anyone who would listen. Even the clergy, so forsworn against all vice and sin, had those among its membership more vile and hypocritical than the flocks they were meant to shepherd... And the worst of all, no one seemed to care but _him_. Claude Frollo alone would have to save this world from those who corrupted it, cleaning out the rot, even if he had to do so one person at a time, city by city, country by country.

So it was with more than a little trepidation that he came upon their first destination in the farmlands on the outskirts of Notre Dame. For the first time since the Festival, he stared out the carriage window at the river-locked city he was charged with saving from itself. Plagued as it was by rebels, gypsies, degenerates, heretics of the lowest orders... It was still _his_ duty to protect it from threats. Yet here he was preparing to launch a campaign of a kind not seen since the Crusades, and he could not say in complete honesty if it was to bring down a dangerous insurgent, or the one girl who had ensnared his heart after fifty years of flawless celibacy. If it was the latter, then he was doomed; a sinner just as vile as every brainless dolt he'd seen stumbling aimlessly through the streets barking at shadows.

_Perhaps they'll cooperate. Perhaps there will be no need for it._

_And perhaps the clouds will part for the savior's coming today. I think not._

"Don't resist, for it only proves your guilt", he had sharply advised the first house the soldiers had come to. "If you are indeed innocent of harboring fugitives, then you have nothing to fear."

The father of the family then launched into a sobbing plea against Frollo's robes, which might indeed have moved a first-year Judge or Minister to pity. Frollo, however, had born witness to enough such drivel to realize that no amount of courteous or groveling could guarantee _honesty_. The only way to learn the truth was to search every square inch of the place themselves, which thankfully did not take long. It was not until the fourth farmhouse searched that his brows knitted and his heart seared with righteous fury.

"Some kind of powder, sir", the soldier reported, extending one hand without his glove, holding a handful of something that looked like purple chicken feed, but smaller. "It was in one of the unused stalls in the stables."

Taking a smaller portion of the stuff into his own palm, Frollo was just as quick to crush it into vapor. "I've seen this before", he noted to the nameless soldier. "A plant compound grown in the Turkish kingdoms, said to allow one to relive memories when inhaled." His face darkened. "Primarily imported for use by gypsy fortune-tellers."

Without any further word and thus no chance for anyone to muster one in the family's defense, he raised one of the unlit torches to beckon Captain Hyral over. Apparently satisfied that their lies had fooled the Minister, the family had returned to their straw-roofed house. They did not even notice a pair of soldiers hauling a stray beam of wood over to block the door.

Satisfied as well, Frollo regarded the Captain platonically. As young as he was, Hyral had impressed him so far with his experience in matters of quelling civil unrest and internal discipline. Though he lacked the precise cheekbones or lurid beauty that denoted him as being of noble descent- which might well have earned a Captain ridicule in more elite circles- Claude Frollo could not care less about the boy's upbringing so long as he continued to be loyal and competent.

Now, there was only one final test before he could be certain that he'd found someone he could truly trust. "No sign of her yet, my lord", the Captain was saying. "I've already sent cavalry ahead to sweep the fisheries- once people hear about what we're doing here, they'll evacuate any fugitives they might have with them before we arrive. Best to check them when they're not ready for us."

"True", Frollo acknowledged gratefully. "Yet even without the fugitives themselves, the truth strains to present itself to the eyes of the just. That house's owner is guilty of harboring gypsies, possibly the girl. Burn it."

It took several seconds for the final two words, so casually uttered, to register with him. "What? But sir, they're still in there. Their _children_ are still in there. If you wanted to punish them, then at least state their crime."

But the Minister's mind was made up on the matter. What if they did _not _punish such arrogance? The word would spread and become precedent. Everyone in the country would know they could hide fugitives and get caught once without a penalty. In this way, the folk of Paris would actively reject any connection with his quarry out of fear, mayhap even seek to bring them to justice themselves in search of rewards. Frollo, who cared nothing for money, vowed to give them as much of such a reward as was justified. "They already know their crime, and _this_ is their punishment, Captain. These people are traitors who must be made examples of."

Hyral stepped back, at once unsure of what was expected of him. He looked at the Minister as though seeing him for the first time. "With all due respect, sir. I wasn't trained to murder the innocent."

The Minister frowned. He had known it was too good to be true. In the end, no one but he was willing to do what was necessary to defeat evil. _One more chance, mayhap_. "But you _were_trained to follow orders." With that, he pressed the torch he held into the Captain's gauntlets, lighting it. "Do your duty, Captain Delita Hyral."

The Captain stood wide-eyed, not necessarily out of shock, but the occasional moment in life when a multitude of realizations stack up atop one another all at once, overloading the senses. Then those stretched eyes narrowed back into the daggers they normally were. "It's _not _a curse, sir. I've seen Charm magicks before, and she never did anything like that to you."

Frollo shrugged flatly, giving no signs of understanding him. "Must I call for another?"

"You don't have to do this, sir!"

"Ten seconds, Captain. The penalty for insubordination is death."

Hyral did not need five. For a moment it looked like he was about to take the burning plywood to the house. But in truth, he'd only approached it to dunk it in the farm's water barrel, dropping it inside for good measure. Biting back a mixture of rage and disappointment, Frollo simply called for another torch to be brought to him, and again Hyral hesitated. Whether or not that hesitation might have made a difference in his subsequent efforts to stop Frollo's torch as well would never be known; as things stood, even a master swordsman could not have cut through the surrounding soldiers in time. The flames quickly spread from the contact point, seemingly harmless for the first twenty seconds before the adjacent windmill burst into light.

_Truly, we are past the point of no return..._

God forgive him, he found it a strangely beautiful sight. While the Captain busied himself with fighting off men he'd been leading moments before, Claude Frollo was unable to take his eyes from it. The fire was everywhere now, burning away the morning fog and the structural beams that fuelled it with light seemingly born of Heaven, not Hell. At once, the Minister reflected on an old testimonial, one many years old. A man brought before him accused of arson towards his neighbors' lands, rigidly claiming the sight of the fires burning was too beautiful a sight to deny the world. For the first time, he understood that man, though such a revelation did not change his position on the sentencing. That lone crazed man had burned the homes and possessions of others for his own personal satisfaction after all, whereas he did this solely to save Paris from the power of an evil witch and her ilk.

Distracted as he was, he did not pay the Captain any further mind until he burst from the burning house, carrying a bawling child in his arms and the two frightened parents close behind. From the looks of things, he'd only killed two soldiers before opting to rescue the traitors from their deserved fate, having had to remove his armor to avoid roasting in the oven that house had now become. Behind them, the roof finally collapsed on itself, the loose material only fueling the blaze to greater heights.

Treacherous as he might have been, the ex-Captain was no fool. He didn't waste a moment in setting the child back in the mother's eager arms, nor in yelling for them to run and taking off himself. All of this was done before the soldiers could get organized again. All well done, executed with a rapid energy that made clear his resolve, moreso when he pushed aside the lone soldier standing guard over Frollo's horse- a well-bred, midnight black steed he'd enjoyed the company of for years- and took it for his own in one smooth motion.

_Now_Frollo scowled. This had gone from disappointing to a serious aggravation. That horse was as much a symbol of his reputation and cause as the robes and hat he wore, or the rings adorning his fingers. Moreover, it was one of the rare creatures on this World devoid of sin. To kill it solely due to a man's duplicity was a hard price to face, but neither could he in good conscience let the traitor escape. "Get him!", he managed, gesturing to the cavalry archers Hyral could not have expected. "But don't hit my horse!"

It was all he could do for it. As the first volleys flew overhead, he faced the hard fact that only a very skilled archer could manage such a request. If the horse did indeed have to die, he swore he would take its value out of Captain Hyral's hide before he was allowed to follow it to the otherworld. _Apologies girl, but in war there are always casualties..._

But it seemed the Lord still smiled on him that day- when he looked back up, it was _Hyral _falling off into the lake he'd been riding past, an arrow embedded in his shoulder past his undershirt, while the mare went on uninjured. Eager to be certain of their kill, the men proceeded to fire into the water in hopes of hitting Hyral.

Frollo almost laughed at their enthusiasm; it was a good sign, nearly cheering him up from the loss of such a promising young lad. "Don't waste your arrows", he finally admonished them. "Let the traitor rot in his watery grave. We still have work to do. Find the gypsy girl. If you have to burn this city to the ground, so be it!"

And so as more torches were lit and brought to bear against those who would aid the enemies of God, Minister Claude Frollo found his trepidation to be fading like the smouldering embers of the farmhouse. Perhaps it was the girl Esmerelda's curse controlling his heart that had touched off this campaign, perhaps not. Either way, he would never be the slave to his emotions most men seemed to be. Either way, his actions had uncovered proof of lies and weakness and treachery in all manner of places in it's very first _day_. Either way, a purge such as this one had been a long time coming really; all the better to remove all of Notre Dame's rot and filth and degenerates in a single, telling stroke.

* * *

_Past the point of no return, no backward glances_

_The games we played 'til now are at an end_

_The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn_

_We've passed the point of no return_


	6. Siece

Disc: Kingdom Hearts is Tetsuya Nomura's franchise.

* * *

Siece

* * *

Sora leaned away from the largest concentration of fires and mopped his brow. Two trips into burning buildings to rescue trapped civilians had been more than enough to teach him that as much as he was used to hot places like Agrabah or his own home on the Destiny Islands, the difference between them and being near actual fires like this was like that of night and day. Sora's face steadfastly remained a boiling red from repeated brushes with the flames, and he had had to extinguish his own hair twice already.

Dangerous as it was though, looking at the coughing peasants now sprawled in front of him on the cobblestones where he'd dropped him, he knew he would repeat the gesture as many times as needed, to save as many people as he could from the fires. He couldn't help it. It was just something he had felt he had to do. Nevermind asking who had caused it all; the point was to save the people in danger, whether it was Heartless, Nobodies, or now these simple, primal fires that threatened their lives and turned their homes to ash and soot.

Without waiting for them to thank him, he peered around the blacksmith's shop to spot yet another blaze just beginning to consume what looked like a multi-floor inn. As was starting to become customary for the homes they burned, the soldiers had barred the door from the outside, this time with a squarish chest of drawers. Without hesitation, he drew the Keyblade and brought it down onto the large object. Sawdust flew, but as Sora looked down he groaned in disappointment. The thing was only one quarter of the way through, and every second of delay was one more for the two women crying out from inside to choke on fumes. As lethal as it was against the creatures of darkness, the mighty key that had made him a legend still had difficulty cleaving a simple piece of wood and metal. If things hadn't been so serious he would have laughed at the irony of it. Instead, he hefted it for another swing.

Not one, but two slashing sounds rang out, and then the chest crumbled. Looking up, Sora saw the other weapon- a simple but efficient bit of steel without any markings or lettering- and more importantly the man who had brought it down to carve the chest lengthwise. The blond warrior with the comically small nose, who had first encouraged him to climb the bell tower of Notre Dame.

"What are you waiting for, idiot!", the man asked him impatiently over the crackle of burning wood. "I'll take the upper floors, you check the first and the cellar!"

"Roger!", Sora shouted back, quickly dashing through the broken doors into the space that had once served as both lodgings and a tavern. Now though, all the stools and tables were either smashed or burning, and the well-dressed woman who he presumed had been the owner cowered behind the counter. At once feeling the ever-prevalent smoke slide in and clog his lungs, he felt it a miracle that she had even lasted this long.

"Come with me!", he called to her frantically. "I've unblocked the door!" The woman stood, still cautious of falling debris but just as eager to escape the burning wreck, and nodded a frightened affirmative. "Is there anyone else in the cellar?"

"Just one!", she called back over the increasing roaring noise. "My cat!" Right on cue, a sick-sounding screech he'd never heard a cat make came up from beneath the floorboard cracks.

Sora could have slapped himself, but didn't delay overlong once the woman was safely out. Well why not? Cats were living beings too, and he felt relatively certain that the blond fighter could handle anyone trapped above them. Darting into the cellar, he saw the poor thing trapped by a fallen wine rack, looking desperate but too terrified to move. This time, two slashes was enough to sever the beam and let the cat run for the stairs, followed closely by Sora. He had barely been outside for ten seconds before the second floor sloughed down onto the first, melding the flames that had destroyed both into an inescapable inferno.

He stared, scarely believing the sight. "Oh no. That guy..." Just then, the third-floor window exploded outward, the glass shards bearing with them the blond man and a younger woman, both of them riddled with scorch marks. Landing on the ground with no signs of further injury, he set the girl down on the street to let the owner tend to her. Now wearing a face likewise swelled by heat, he faced Sora sternly. "Is that everyone?"

"Has to be", Sora reasoned. Behind them, the owner nodded. "All my customers cleared out when they realized that anyone could be next." Her face, already streaked with soot marks, darkened further still. "Damned savages. What do they think they're doing? We've done nothing wrong!"

"I don't think it matters what you've done now", the blond man with the small nose reasoned grimly, looking back at the huge fire in disgust as it spread upwards to the third floor. "As far as the Minister's concerned, you're guilty until proven innocent. By the way, did you know your hair is on fire?"

It took Sora only a moment to realize this last comment was directed toward _him_. Feeling stupid but also urgent, he raised one hand to the tiny patch of fire that had caught on his hair without his knowledge. "_Freeze_." Abruptly the faint warm sensation was replaced with a harsh chill that was painful, but the fire would have been far more so had it been allowed to spread much further.

"Interesting method, casting Blizzard on yourself", the blond guy remarked coyly. "Good thing you didn't use Blizzaga, assuming you know that level of it."

"That would've been going just a_ little _bit overboard, yeah", Sora joked back. Regaining his poise, he saw the owner and the other girl running off for parts unknown, possibly scared off by the sight of magic. "Thanks for the help, 'Mister Blank'. I'm not sure why these guys are doing this, but-"

"I do", the man cut in. "They're after the girl who snubbed Frollo at the festival."

Sora gaped. "All this just to find Esmerelda? That's... evil!"

"No kidding", the man concurred, starting to search the skyline again for another burning building that still had a hope of it's inhabitants surviving. So far, there were none left in their area. "But you mustn't blame yourself. I think the Minister would have resorted to this even if you hadn't helped her get through the bell tower. Anything to draw her out, he'll do now."

Still reeling with the enormity of the purge, Sora simply nodded. The man looked as though he was about to say more when shouts rang out from an alleyway, preceding a squad of six soldiers, all with torches. United in their desire not to hurt humans unless there was no other choice, they both retreated to the relative calmness of the Notre Dame cathedral, though the occasional crash or cry for help still penetrated its walls. "I don't know if they're so desperate for prey that they would try to stop us from saving the people", the blond man commented once they were safely inside. "But I've no desire to find out. Have you tried casting Blizzard on the fires?"

"No", Sora admitted. "What about you?"

The man offered him a wry smile, the first he'd seen from him. "I've seen magicks used many times my friend, but haven't bothered to learn many myself. If I had my way, I wouldn't have had to learn to use this tool of murder either", he claimed, brandishing his sword dismissively before Sora.

"So who_ are _you?", the younger boy blurted out, for once forgetting how they had met. The blond man paused as if considering, then sheathed his blade. "I suppose there's no harm in it now; I saw you at the bell tower and so I know you're no ally of Frollo's. I doubt any name but Esmerelda would warrant a search now, anyway. My name is Ramza Lugria, of house Beoluve. Better known these days as Ramza the Heretic." He made a little ironic bow.

His friend blinked, unfamiliar with any of his names. "I'm Sora. This is Donal- Oh. Right. Not here."

Still smiling, the blond warrior looked around. "Missing your friends are you, Sora? It's written all over your face. Mine too, I would guess, even if one of them _is_ here."

Sora looked to the window. "I sure am. If they were here, we'd be able to stop this before it even got started. What about your friend, Ramza?"

Now it was the older warrior's turn to look sad, even regretful, as they unconciously sat on the stones beneath them. "I would guess... That he's started at least one fire himself by now."

Sora stared, realizing but not believing. "Wait, your nose... Captain Hyral? _He's_ your friend?"

"Best friend", Ramza confirmed in an unshakably maudlin tone, not turning his gaze from the floor's dismal gray. "Or at least he was, once. A lot of things happened. Bad things. Delita disappeared for about a year, and now he's working with the church's plot to eventually overthrow the nobility. The whole reason he was posted here was to keep a close eye on Minister Frollo."

"Does Frollo know that?"

Ramza chuckled darkly. "That man thinks the transfer was due to Delita's merit as a soldier. What he doesn't realize is that he was forced in as a spy by the influence of the clergy, keeping the Captain who was originally going to be the replacement on the battlefield."

Sora shook his head helplessly. "Dealing with these huge, complicated plots really isn't my strong suit. I'm best at dealing with what's in front of me. If someone's using the Heartless or Nobodies to hurt people, or doing it themselves... I'll stop them." Punctuating the statement, he snapped the Keyblade back into existence, as if daring someone to try and hurt the worshippers deeper into the cathedral.

"Well spoken", Ramza observed. "I'm much the same way, as a matter of fact. If the rumors that the Heartless and Nobodies are created when a person's heart is utterly consumed by negative feelings are true, then we _are_doing the right thing in preventing Claude Frollo from plunging all of Paris into anarchy."

"Ana-what?"

"Destroying everyone's homes and loved ones, making them lose their hearts to hatred", Ramza amended. "You don't read much, do you Sora?"

"Not really", the lad admitted sheepishly. "The only way I learned most of my spells was with Merlin's help. He told me that I was the second-worst student he'd ever had."

"The legendary wizard Merlin, eh? Who was the worst?"

"No idea."

Ramza shrugged to himself. "Still, there aren't many people who can wield a blade and combine that with magic expertise, and I don't pay you that compliment lightly. Together, we just might have a chance."

"A chance?"

At once the older boy's face returned to the professional fighter's veneer he'd worn when they first met, and he looked back at Sora expectantly. "Don't miscontrue me-"

"Done."

The older boy arched his brow curiously. "Har har. I guess you really don't know what 'miscontrue' means. Maybe _I'm_ the one who's spent too long cooped up in the castle library, reading everything. What I mean to say, is not for you to assume that I ever _enjoy_killing like those brutes out there burning houses. I hate it, as I do all forms of war. Saving those peasants out there from fires is all well and good, but it won't mean a thing unless we eventually go to the source of Paris' woe, and destroy it. He has gone too far. Alone it would be suicide, but together we may be able to, even if Delita is guarding him. I could divert him and the rest of the Minister's bodyguards while you get in the killing stroke. In fact, _that_ was why the gypsy underground- the Court of Miracles- summoned me here. To save this country."

Sora stared at him a long while, slowly figuring out his intent, as well as what 'woe' meant. Ramza Beoluve sure was a fancy talker. "I'm sorry Ramza, but no. I can't. The moment I was mature enough to realize that the Keyblade could be used to hurt _people_as well as Heartless and Nobodies, I made a promise together with Riku to never to use it to kill someone. Even someone as bad as Frollo."

The youngest Beoluve stood and heaved a long sigh. "I figured as much. Wartime killing marks people in subtle ways, and I noticed from the start you had none of that on your face. By all means, preserving that innocence is a worthy goal. I just pray you don't come to regret it later."

Feeling as though he'd alienated him, Sora followed him up to the door, stretching out a hand to beckon him back. "Wait. You're not thinking of going after Frollo _now_, are you? You'd never find him in all this smoke."

"Smoke that his men created", the youngest Beoluve retorted sharply over his shoulder. "But no. Saving the innocent is always worth the trouble. I can deal with Frollo and Delita once we've done everything we can to curb their pyromania. If they happen to take issue with our efforts, so much the better- we can take them with a minimum of bloodshed. Are you coming, Sora?"

Sora said nothing until he'd gotten to the double doors, right beside his new ally so he could see him up close. "What, you had to ask? We're not done tonight. Not until absolutely everyone is safe. And you can tell me what 'pyromania' means while we're at it."

Ramza smiled at his enthusiasm, only sparing a moment's glance at the cathedral's altar, kneeling solemnly upon his sword's plain hilt. "Then God help us sinful children of Ivalice, for tonight we seek your favour..."

Then as one, they slammed both the doors open and returned to the burning madness together.

* * *

Rain had at last come to Notre Dame, and never before had it been so desired. From the hills beyond the city's multitude of bridges, looking down upon the massive collection of buildings and the country-sized cloud of smoke that even made itself noticeable at night, it was simple to imagine the tears of God descending to wipe away the destruction the city's own guard had wrought upon it.

This was not the end, Clopin acknowledged bitterly from their vantage point in the foothills. Rain might douse the current fires, but did nothing to stop the source. Once it was over, the gradual burning of their city would resume in earnest. At least this time, the people there would know what was coming and remove their loved ones from the fire's path. Even now, a mass exodus was occurring at the north bridge- the only one that had not yet been effectively blockaded with a checkpoint of six or more soldiers- people fleeing their homes and carrying as many valuables with them as they could.

All this knowledge did little to salve the righteous anger of his pupil, which could be felt by Clopin even as he kept his distance from her. Esmerelda could not take her eyes from the black shroud that hung over their home, nor from the thugs who had caused it. Seeing her suspended between tears and wrath, Clopin felt as though he should break the ice.

"Our people are safe in the Court", he offered meagerly. "No amount of searching can uncover them now."

Bad timing. She rounded on him, gesturing to the escapees. "It doesn't _matter_, Clopin. It's like he doesn't even _care_ about finding the rest of us anymore. Just me. No one else. I should-"

Moving just as swiftly, he raised one hand to forcibly shush her. "Not another _word_, mademoiselle. Does the lady think this is the first time Trouble has sought to ransom innocents for us?"

By squirming, she shook off his hand to speak again. "This all happened because I challenged him. It's all _my_fault; he's burning the city just to get me to show. This... Has gone miles beyond any kind of retribution I ever dreamt of, Clopin. Enough is enough."

"Ah. We all know how you despise Trouble", the jester reasoned amiably. "The lady just never realized until now that the feeling is mutual."

"I _knew_that", she replied, gaze returning to the refugees and their situation. "I would never burn an entire city just to kill Frollo, though."

"_Never, _madame?"

The words brought her up short, and she turned to stare at her mentor in shock. "Clopin, I didn't mean it like that. What happened to Relena was... I don't know, an accident. I don't have anything near her level of skill with our arts, and even if I did..."

She was brought up short when he suddenly leaned forward, wordlessly pushing her from their perch and down the hill into the river. The water was thick with muck and ash, and once out of it she was on the verge of shouting at him when she saw the reason why he'd done it. Three soldiers stood across the dirt road, one holding one of Clopin's men with a blade to his neck. The man, Faruk, who was meant to be their 'early warning' in the case of a lucky patrol looked as though a thousand apologies were waiting to burst forth from his wide mouth, but he held his tongue for fear of blowing any chance of them getting out of this. Likewise, Esmerelda froze up against the riverbank, being so close to the detection that meant her execution.

"Not another step." One of the soldiers barked at Clopin. "We found this gypsy covering for you. Care to explain yourself?"

Clopin, at least, had been prepared. He regarded the three men with cold, pitiless eyes that Esmerelda had never seen on her mentor before, and indeed were unsettling in contrast to how jovial he normally was. "Imbeciles! Your interference has ruined my chance to capture three of the rebels.", he called to them, somehow able to alter his voice into an exact match of Claude Frollo. Though no one would ever mistake the two, the sound of it alone gave them pause and made them wonder if this strangely regal, scowling, raven-haired man was an ally of the Minister, or worse, a member of the high-class nobility. "Now we only have one. Who is your superior?"

Against most of the guard it would have worked. The soldier in the middle however, deserved his post. "I don't see a trap, mister. Just where did those other two gypsies flee to?"

Clopin gave a haughty sigh and gestured to their horses, his anger somehow palpable even as Esmerelda knew it to be as fake as his voice. "The _horses_, you idiots. I rigged both of the harnesses up to trap the hands of anyone who tried to steal them. They were_ just _about to take the bait when you cretins barged in, and they fled over the foothills to the east! Now we'll never catch those damned heretics!" While talking, he'd stormed up to the inquisitive soldier to try and intimidate him out of asking further questions.

"Fair enough", the tallest of the trio said, sounding calm and well-mannered for a soldier. "We're sorry to have ruined your little trap sir, but you have to admit it did look suspicous when this filth was watching you from behind. At least we got this one."

"Indeed", the middle soldier concurred, slowly approaching the red-robed man. "He shall simply have to suffice for three." Abruptly, before Clopin or even any of his pals could bat an eye, the sharp soldier drew his blade and sliced Faruk lengthwise, following up with two equally speedy diagonal cuts through his flesh. He was dead on the first stroke, and the remainder only scattered more of his blood to the winds.

Seeing this, she felt her face flush with her own blood, a boiling heat greater than the Paris fires. Faruk had been unarmed and helpless, and instead of taking him to trial they'd killed him out of _disappointment_. He was a reliable ally, a father of two, and a dutiful husband. Now, he was dead meat. The heat spread to the rest of her, searing her heart, making it intolerable to stand any longer, but neither could she slink back into the muck and leave this... _Affront _to God to go unavenged. Old Clopin could have grinned and bore it- he had been doing so for decades and thus was used to it by now- but not her. Not now. They would _pay_.

Though later memories of what occured would remain cloudy for the rest of her days, she could distinctly remember vaulting towards the three men, clearing the riverbank in a single running leap. All three had drawn their blades at the sight, while the middle one shouted: "The gypsy witch! We've found her!"

Clopin would later tell her she had muttered "Congratulations" before attacking. A bit of humor borrowed from his own book, which might have worked if there was anything resembling comedy in her tone or the three knives she produced from her belt, cartwheeling into a spin. Three knives flew out on separate trajectories, and three targets cried out in anguish before collapsing to the dirt.

Just like that, the heat was gone. She regained full comprehension of the scene around her, including the impossibility of what she had just done. She'd never been so accurate with knives before, even while throwing them one at a time. Though only the middle soldier's knife was in an instantly fatal spot, she could still scarcely believe that she had hit each of them simultaneously.

At once back to his most-concerned look- the kind that showed a healthy dose of fear for her life- Clopin turned to face her. "_Never_, madame?"

No. It wasn't only fear for her life he was showing through that mask of his. It was fear for her very soul.

* * *

Quasimodo greeted the sight of disheveled refugees being brought into his sanctuary with as much horror as he would ever permit himself to show in front of his friends. Burned, weary, and often injured, a handful of them staggered in to find a place in the belfry to recoup. Those who were not too stricken to do so kept their eyes on their rescuer, Sora, as he marshalled a defense against the bellringer's steadfast refusal.

"You didn't bring them on the roofs. You climbed the bell tower.", Quasimodo began, trying to start out friendly. "What happened to the Nobodies?"

"Frollo happened", Sora told him curtly. He would have been more polite, but repeated rescue missions all through the night had gradually worn down his energ and his patience. "He sent his Nobodies away from the bell tower with a new goal. To keep people inside their homes where they could burn. Me and Ramza had to fight them at every turn when we weren't dodging or fighting soldiers."

"T-this is impossible", the bellringer murmured, mostly to himself. "Either way, I can't let them stay here for long. If Frollo ever found out-"

"We wouldn't want that, now would we?" Sora winced, only then realizing how bitter that sounded. He really was getting snappish. "I'm sorry... Quasimodo. I'm just really, really tired out after spending all night saving people from your master. Why don't you come with us and help? You're strong. You can say these people chased you out of your sanctuary. Frollo was at the festival- he'll believe you."

Again, he had said exactly the wrong thing. His larger eye narrowed, Quasimodo jumped up to the rafters in a huff. "You're asking me to _lie_ to my master. Again."

"No", he shot back, ascending up after him as only he could. "I'm asking you to take a stand for what's right. D'you think Esmerelda would want you to hide up here in the bell tower while your city burns to the ground?"

"I wouldn't know", the bellringer countered, now equally high-strung from having so many strange people around. Inwardly, Sora was glad he had not brought Ramza along. He didn't seem to like the hunchback very much. There might have been a fight. "I haven't heard from her since we met."

Any of the refugees present could tell that both their tempers were flaring, but neither of the boys had it in their nature to stay that way for very long. Sure enough, young Quasimodo broke into tears seconds after finishing the line, and Sora, absolved of anger, strode over to comfort him. "Hey, now. Don't you think it. She can't _possibly_be dead. Esmerelda's got some moves that even I can't figure out. No tin-can thug or Nobody flunky's gonna catch her. If they did, Frollo would've made a big show of it in the square. It would be a blow to all of us, so he'd be sure to let everyone know. So she's fine. Just hiding, probably."

"My friends said that too", the hunchback whimpered, still curled up and shaking with fright and worry. "They said she'd be all right. They said she loves me too much to die. They said that."

Sora smiled, standing up before him. "There. See? She's gonna be fine. Am I right? Everyone! Am I right?" Slowly, he saw the scattering of men and women below nodding the affirmative. All of them wanted to go on believing Esmerelda was still out there somewhere, escaping from the prying eyes of the law. Even if some of them blamed her for provoking the purge, no one could deny that she was not the one taking torches to people's homes, or deploying the terrifying Nobodies to seek out survivors. None of them had forgotten the fire in her eyes when she'd rebuked them for their treatment of the hunchback, and many had had the time to take a reexamination of their actions.

"I'm glad-", Quasimodo managed at last, looking up from his position and into the burning sky outside. "-Glad to have met you both. But it's still too risky to keep them here. If a single soldier spots someone, it'll be a dead end. There's no way out of here for them. Same thing if the Nobodies come back. You'll all have to leave now."

"I guess you're right", Sora confessed, looking each of the rescuees straight in the eye to make sure none of them would protest. "What about after that? Will you help us?"

The bellringer brushed back his mop of hair, setting his deformed jaw firmly. "I can't. The outside world isn't my world, Sora. The only way I can make penance for what I've done is to stay here."

Sora stared back at him as the others began to leave, unable to shake his sense of disappointment completely. "Alright. You're sure?"

"I'm sure. Maybe after all this is over, I'll give it another try. But until then..."

"I see." _Assuming there's a city left for you to reveal your face to,_ the bleak thought intruded, but did not force its way out of his mouth. "I'll be going, then. Can I at least rest here still?"

Quasimodo spread his arms in a weak gesture of appeasement. "Be my guest. Just make sure to leave early; my master's visits have become completely random since the festival. If he sees you-"

"I know", Sora acknowledged, starting to notice a habit in the hunchback for stating the obvious, as though he felt everyone else needed reminding, or else he was simply reminding himself. "I'll be-"

An anguished cry overrode both their voices from the walkways below, and for a moment Sora feared they'd been found out. Instead of soldiers though, it was Esmerelda and her goat who barged into the belfry, the former carrying a man both presumed to be the source of the scream with her before setting him down on the table like the world's biggest leg of lamb. "Risky to move him", she explained breathlessly to them both over the lingering screams of her passenger. "But if we didn't, he would have died for sure. Can you help him?"

Sora and Quasimodo both looked the man over, neither fully trusting what they saw. Auburn hair accenting a plain civilian tunic, its simple cloth illustrating a fractured pulse. A splintered wooden arrow shaft jutting from the back, and a large splotch of red on his tunic leaving no question as to where it was embedded. At his side, the strangely-hilted blade that, along with his near-noseless face, had first made him stand out at the festival.

The unconscious face of Captain Delita Hyral.

* * *

_Those who have seen your face_

_Draw back in fear_

_Behind the mask you wear_

_It's me they hear_


	7. Set

Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts and Hunchback of Notre Dame aren't my property.

* * *

Set

* * *

Paris burned. Just as expected, the rain had been only a brief interlude in which those neutral in the conflict could escape to the lands beyond. Now only the diehards, the devout men and women who had grown up in the most beautiful city in the country and who had no children to worry for the safety of, remained behind. Though scattered and disorganized at first, they would not allow the prolonged siege on their homeland to continue without resistance.

Likewise, the soldiers charged with enforcing the new plan to flush out the elusive gypsy girl could now bid farewell to the misgivings of many amongst their number who had been reluctant to risk harming children or older citizens merely caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. The brutes among them had had their proverbial leashes let loose, the men who either stood by their oaths no matter how distasteful, and far worse, the men who actually enjoyed it. Discreet as they were deadly, Nobodies prowled the streets looking for victims driven from their homes, and though Sora and Ramza worked hard to stave them off at every turn, they could not save everyone.

Paris burned. With every jaunt from the dwindling safety of the cathedral's bell tower, the two saw more structures around the border precincts crumble into blackened wood and dust. Townsfolk watched and whispered as Ramza Beoluve, infuriated by their helplessness, eventually lashed out at his younger ally and left to find his own solution. Prayers were made. Fires were stifled by Blizzard magic and started anew by soldiers after their foes had left. Hopeful rumors surfaced of a delegation who had gone to the king for help, yet others said they had been turned away. Instead, the onus for their anguish gradually shifted towards the single girl who had inadvertently brought all this about. Esmerelda, the one whose capture could end all their suffering. What was one life compared to thousands, after all? Search parties were formed, and it was not long before the handful of stealthy parlor magicians slinking through the ruin learned to avoid the disgruntled rebels as cleanly as the soldiers.

And still Paris burned.

* * *

Of the many bloody battles Ramza Beoluve had fought in the name of justice and God, many of those had also been battles he hadn't expected until the very moment swords were drawn. Whether it was a well-planned ambush or some splinter faction with a grudge attacking him in a place where no combat had been anticipated, he had learned the hard way that a soldier had to always remain on guard in case of an attack, even in one's own home domicile.

So when the unmistakable sight of Minister Frollo's carriage rode into view, he did not waste time in fleeing from it, nor in preparing to perform a task he hadn't thought to do for another day at least. "You had your chance, your honour", the young noble whispered to himself ironically from behind a tailor's shop that had not yet been demolished by Frollo's wrath. "Now you reap what you've sown, if only so that this country may know the most primitive kind of justice."

Climbing to the roof, and bringing out a crossbow from his pack that he'd purchased only this morning, he would have an open view of the Minister the moment he left the protective enclosure of the carriage. Stopping in the square, he was conferencing with the unit leaders he'd left in the main city, their armored bodies denying him a clear shot, though he offered thanks to various Gods that he hadn't been spotted lying prone on the rooftop yet.

"We've checked everywhere, m'lord", one of the Lieutenants was saying just loud enough for Ramza to hear. "There's nowhere left for her to hide. She is not within this city."

Frollo paused for only a moment, then casually backhanded the overconfident soldier. "Impossible. She would not leave the city. Not when she learned what we've been doing. No, the highest likelihood was that she was hiding in the so-called 'Court of Miracles'. I had hoped that this campaign would have finally exposed that wretched place, but now...", he stalked over towards one of the destroyed structures, crumpling the report in frustration.

_Now. _Having wandered a distance away from the soldiers, with his back turned to the tailor's shop, Frollo at last presented a target. Starting on his graying hair, Ramza slowly angled his sights downwards to the Minister's spine. The youngest Beoluve drew the bowstring taut with practiced ease. A proper shot would penetrate his dishonorable heart from back to front, leaving him to bleed out onto the cobblestones of the city he had terrorized. _And now... goodbye, your majesty._

Frollo began to turn just as the arrow flew, but that should not have made much of a difference, never mind knock the projectile aside and into a shipping crate. Ramza blinked, rose, then blinked again, at once unsure of what he'd just seen. _Impossible. That shot was dead-on; I could feel it. _Looking down at the guards in the square, he saw what seemed to be a miracle for Frollo followed by a smaller one for him; none of the soldiers had noticed the arrow sitting atop the crate, or heard the wind-whistling noise that indicated a well-strung bow and a user well-accustomed to putting arrows in eyes and throats. All the same, he had been prepared to break and run. Only now he wasn't required to because _something _had _somehow_ deflected his arrow!

_Calm_, he instructed himself upon feeling his frustration grow. _There must be a reason. Maybe he has some kind of magical protection. _Whatever the case, a second arrow would only be tempting fate. Instead he sat back and watched the Minister stalk back towards the cathedral, watching closely for signs of such a barrier.

"It was all so simple when she was trapped in here", Frollo was musing in genuine-seeming regret to a Lieutenant. "We had every entrance guarded, did we not? Men at every door and alley?"

"We did, sir", the Lieutenant offered. "No one came in or out of the cathedral that night without us checking them."

"There was no possible way she could have escaped", Frollo echoed back hollowly. "Unless..."

_Unless?_

"Unless?", the Lieutenant repeated back quizzically.

Staring up at the cathedral's mighty towers, Frollo made a move into absolute calmness, actually handing the soldier his plush black hat. "A moment, Lieutenant. There's something I need to check on. Alone."

_Oh crap._

* * *

Delita Hyral drifted through a chaotic land of dreams, dimly aware of his situation but unable to do anything about it. In one sliver of mind's eye vision he was eating deliciously sweet corn of the kind the Beoluve family chef used to make for them, the next he was standing there with a sword rammed through his guts and out the other end, Sora holding onto it and grinning with Algus' most devilish face. The next it was _he_ who was performing murder, striking down a priest he did not recognize before the corpse transformed into that of his sister's.

_No_, he told himself, trying to steady himself against the whirlwind of images and feelings. _It wasn't a sword. It was an arrow. _Yes. That was it. Someone had shot him with an arrow. There had been fire, and then water. Blood and anguish. Darkness, then light and light-headedness. He willed both eyelids open the second he could feel them again.

He was in some kind of stone pantry, covered in a thin blanket and a gauze pouch beneath that to stem the wound that was so dangerously close to his heart. Sitting up, he immediately realized that there was little beyond the wooden flooring he rested upon but a long drop to the floor below, with only the ceiling beams walkable. Only the dimmest rays of light reached him from the windows, telling him that he'd been out of action for almost an entire day if not more.

He was about to stand and test how bad his wound was, when he heard frantic footsteps from below followed by a familiar voice: "My apologies, dear boy. I have been very busy as of late, and allowed our sessions to slip."

Delita scowled, eyes bulging. He could never forget the voice of the man who had gotten him where he was now, nor his upturned lip or nose, so very much like _Algus_... As tempting as it was to pounce on the object of his vengeance, he was still injured and weaponless, and did not know who's side this frenzied-seeming bellringer was on as he rushed to a dusty cabinet to fetch some food. Alternately hoping and dreading that Minister Frollo should look directly up and left from his seat on the lower floor, the ex-Captain crept back to simply watch and listen.

"Your home seems somewhat less... Organized than your usual. Has someone been bothering you?"

"Oh no, no, they weren't bothering- I mean, they didn't bother me. There was no one else here. Just me." There was an unmistakable feeling of dissonance with that second stammering voice. As ugly and animalistic as the hunchback of Notre Dame looked, he had a voice and manner like that of a child. A very, very frightened child, at that. One who was trying desperately to conceal a misdeed from a concerned parent.

"You're not _eating_, boy."

Though the hunchback remained out of his sight now, the scarfing noises were unmistakable. Unmoved by the act, the Minister sat up from his chair and strode over to a suprisingly detailed-looking town model, complete with a great many wooden duplicates of the peasant folk. Unable to hold his curiosity, Delita inched closer to make out a detailed brown piece that Frollo was suddenly examining with great interest.

"Isn't this one new?", Frollo asked fake-innocently as he ran fingers over the model. "It's awfully good. It reminds me very much of the... Gypsy girl."

A long pause answered, not a sound from Quasimodo though Delita knew his terror to be all-consuming. In a single motion as he spoke, Frollo brought the girl's model down on the table _hard_, impaling it on his long knife. "I know. You helped her ESCAPE. Now all of Paris is _burning_... Because of YOU."

_So that's how she got out_, Delita realized with a start. _Frollo should have been more careful where he hid his dirty little secret. Of course, nothing could get him to admit that. _Prior experiences combined with the fury the Minister was now unleashing on the subject of his wrath had taught Delita that Claude Frollo was a seasoned expert at deflecting blame, on par with a great many nobles. In the meantime, the hunchback was struggling to even whimper a reply; it was not hard for him to imagine the boy in tears. "She was _kind _to me, master."

Wrong answer. No longer content with only maiming the Esmerelda doll, Frollo turned his strength towards wrecking the entire display in a tempestuous wrath such as Delita had only ever felt within himself, not seen. "YOU IDIOT!!", he thundered, bringing down the mock-cathedral's walls with but one blow. "That wasn't kindness, it was _cunning_! She's a gypsy! Gypsies are not capable of real love! _Think_, boy! Think of your _mother_!"

Another long silence was his reward, and Frollo's voice dropped back to less biblical levels, though it had lost none of it's menace even as he attempted to sound gentle with his pitifully cringing pupil. "...But, what chance would a poor boy like you have against her heathen treachery? Never fear, Quasimodo. She'll be out of both our lives soon enough... I _know_ where her hideout is now. Very soon, this will all seem naught but a bad memory. Then the rebuilding can begin."

With that, he departed. The ex-Captain waited a good minute to ensure he was out of earshot before descending down to the hunchback's main floor. Pieces of models now littered the table, and the Esmerelda figurine lay burning near a candle, barely recognizable as the willful maiden who had stood up at the festival so long ago.

"You!", Quasimodo acknowledged as he looked up from the fires consuming his latest work of art. "Get out of here!" As he'd expected, the bellringer's eyes were swollen in grief, his hair a tangled mess and his cheeks a scarlet red from the recent abuse. Trying to ignore his pity instincts, Delita stared at the remnants of the doll with him. "You can't be serious, kid. You're going to just _let _Frollo waltz into the Court of Miracles and catch her?"

"I'd only make things worse", the hunchback told him glumly. "She can take care of herself."

"I thought you _loved_ her!"

The jibe at least stopped his obsession with the figurine, and caused him to glare back at him. "Why do you care? No. It doesn't matter. Frollo is my master; I must obey him."

"The credo of the coward", Delita accused him in disdain, for the hunchback had struck an issue very close to his own heart. " 'Follow your orders, and don't question them. Kill who we tell you to. It won't be your fault, because we're the ones who ordered you to do it.' Pah! It's because of that mindset that this World's in the sorry shape it is, everyone just content to let the damned aristocrats decide for them." Looking about the belfry, he saw no sign of his weapon. "Now then, show me where you hid my sword; maybe _you're_willing to let Frollo slaughter innocent people, but I'm not."

Quasimodo wordlessly walked over to the pantry where the food was, lifting aside a board at the back to pull Delita's sword free. "You're not the only one who's asked me this, Captain", he claimed as Hyral hitched the holster's handle back onto the latch on his belt, testing to make sure it wouldn't fall. "I saw their faces at the festival, just as you saw mine. It's going to be a long time yet before I'm going to risk going through that horror again."

Unmoved, he took back the tunic he'd worn beneath his now-lost golden armor, thankfully feeling only a twinge of pain as it pressed the gauze tigher against his wound. Hopefully it wouldn't prove a nuisance at a critical moment. He regarded the hunchback with pity now, not anger. "Then you allow your fear to control you, and place at risk one of the only people who accepts you for who you are. As to your 'duty', I think you have a madman, not a master."

And so, he now departed as well.

Alone. Again.

Quasimodo knew he was alone. For some odd reason, his other friends never appeared when he was with someone else, instead disguising themselves as motionless stone gargoyles. He could even hear the voices of his other friends echoing in his ears: encouragement, interest, witty commentary, praise. But for once, the eternally-bickering trio was united in a desire to see their friend go to save the wonderful woman who had broken so many of the bonds that held him capitve already.

"What am I supposed to do?", he demanded of the breeze, now eager to vent some of the anger he'd just been on the recieving end of. "Just _what_ am I supposed to do?! Go down there, slay a dragon or two and rescue her so the WHOLE town will cheer and let flower petals rain down on the city? She has three good men to choose from. Ten. A hundred. A thousand. They're _whole_. Complete. Normal."

None of his friends answered. They were so... _Quiet _these days. The idea that they would speak up less now that he had friends outside the bell tower was not new to him, but still it frightened the bellringer to his very core. Heaving a great gasp in hopes of expelling the fear that held his legs, he gazed out over the city. The fires had returned in smaller numbers once the rain had stopped, with the highest concentrations not far from the cathedral. He could take to the rafters to escape the sight of it. Ring the bells as he'd done all his life. Crawl back into bed to forget his troubles and let all this terrifying madness resolve itself, in hopes that it would all be better in the morning.

Or he could fight this fear. He could tell without words which way his friends wanted him to go.

Scowling in contrast with their expectant faces, he reached for his large travel cloak. "I must be out of my mind."

* * *

"Alright", a thickly accented voice called out. "You can take off the blindfold now."

_About time_, Sora couldn't help thinking as his vision began to clear. Ignoring the fact that it had taken a fair amount of time to persuade Esmerelda to take him to her home in the first place, the trip had felt longer than a trip through the entirety of the Pridelands while blindfolded and tied up and unable to tell where exactly they were going. Worse, no one had dared speak a word for fear of giving them away.

He had not exactly expected a paradise, but as his vision cleared and the ropes loosened he felt deflated. Little more than a vast collection of colorful tents, the orange-bricked, underground vault that Esmerelda's people ironically named the Court of Miracles seemed inappropriately small and shabby compared to the incredible structures he'd seen in the rest of the city. "It's not much", Esmerelda cut in, echoing his own thoughts, "but it's home. And no soldier will ever find us here. Consider yourself privilieged- I'm sure Clopin's going to yell at me for bringing you here later."

Standing, he considered the people milling around him in similarly colorful garments, far more of them than he'd seen managing the festival or during the exodus. It was, after all, the people who made a town- and by association a World- what it was, not impressive architecture such as the Palace of Justice or the cathedral. Esmerelda were sitting off to one side with two men, one of them holding Sora's blindfold while Djali absently butted the stranger's legs. "Didn't you say Clopin was the one who first organized all this?", he asked curiously.

She nodded. "That's right, Sora. When we first met. I'm surprised you remembered that with all you've been through lately. I'm not positive, but it was around twenty years ago- after a high-profile gypsy murder - when he and several of the other leaders first got the idea that we would need a safe haven if the clergy's movement to destroy us kept building power the way it was back then. Unfortunately, he's the only one of the founding members of the Court who is still alive today."

"I'm sorry", Sora blurted out. "I just find it kind of hard to believe this has been going on since before I was even _born_."

"Don't be", she consoled him. "I wasn't born when they started this either. It's not just gypsies, of course. Anyone who is unfairly persecuted by the church or the nobility is welcome here in the Court of Miracles, so long as they take an oath of secrecy, and avoid travelling outside without a chaperone for their first two years."

"And no one's found you out yet?"

She glanced over to a tent where a man was reading a book aloud to several orphans. Sora followed her gaze. "We have our ways, as I'm sure you've noticed. I grew up learning most of my trade here, under Clopin and Lady Relena."

"Right", Sora nodded, reminded of his mission. "Speaking of, do you know when he'll be able to receive us?"

"Soon, I hope", she replied, gesturing to a large turquoise tent with gold strings and various emblems. "Just please stay quiet until he's ready to help you. This is a very sensitive issue for him. Be impatient or rude, and he just might turn you into a toad."

"Um... Got it." He hoped she was kidding.

Sure enough, the gypsy leader Clopin was already engaged in multiple simultaneous conversations with his subordinates, as they stepped into the tent. Each one wore robes of different color hiding most of their faces from casual observation. Above, a collection of a dozen silver bells on ribbons occasionally punctuated the clamor with a ring from someone brushing against them. Behind the jester, a great many pouches of unknown materials lay without labels, the majority of it seeming to be various powders and tonics.

Dealing with so many other people did not do a thing to cloud the jester's unmasked eyes, nor prevent him from rising from his stool and shrieking "Desole-e-e-e-e-e!" in the loudest voice Sora had ever heard him use. Just as it had when they first met however, the shout was not of rage but embarrassment. It only served to make the other gypsies back off as he lapsed into a torrent of crazed-sounding words Sora didn't know, only stopping when Esmerelda held up one slender finger to her lips.

Calmer now, Clopin shared one last gaze with each of his subordinates before propping both legs up on his circular tablecloth like an impudent schoolboy. "Apologies, gentlemen. We'll have to continue our business another time. If something comes up, speak to the purple frog." Some of them followed this advice and left his tent, but a few others lingered as Clopin folded his gloved hands into a steeple the height of his head. "So. Monsieur Sora. Mademoiselle Esmerelda tells me you are in dire need of knowing how the Lady Relena met her fate three years ago."

Seeing Esmerelda give him leave to speak, he nodded. "Everyone else is too scared to say much of anything", he explained slowly. "But I _have_to know the truth before I move on to another World; Aqua told me so. I'm not even sure if I'll be able to come back to this one after I leave it, since I don't have a Gummi ship with me. Please, Clopin. I have to find my friends. Any information you've got would help."

The jester's pallid eyes drooped in response, and for a moment he believed Clopin had put himself to sleep somehow rather than answer his question. Finally, he rose. "It would be best, monsieur Sora, for you to witness that for yourself." Sidling over to the left rack, he removed one of the pouches and pulled its drawstring. Though it looked the same as all the others to Sora, some of the lingering gypsies regarded the powder with concern and suspicious mutterings. Clearly, not all of them were as trusting of the spikey-haired stranger as Esmerelda.

Dancing about the tent with some of his usual jovial energy, Clopin released a handful of the powder into the outstretched palms of everyone present. "I thought so. More of us here should make it easier", Esmerelda whispered once she'd recieved her allotment of powder, moving in beside Sora as they formed a loose circle and joining hands with him. "When he signals you, crush the powder."

Still not quite comprehending what all this ceremony was about, he waited until the candles had been put out and Clopin began to turn his own powder into gaseous form, crushing it all with one tightening of the palms as if making a snowball, all while reciting more incantations the Keyblade master could not understand. Around the circle, the others followed suit, followed closely by Sora and Esmerelda. "Breathe in", Clopin intoned, for once all business in this ritual. "Close your eyes, and turn your minds back to that day, three years ago. Farlem..."

Sora might have waited one, two, even five minutes for a result while breathing in the vapor, but he was not disappointed. When his eyes could not longer stand being scrunched tight, he opened them to realize that they were no longer in the tent, no longer in the Court of Miracles at all. They were back in Notre Dame square, untarnished by the fires and ransacking so recently visited upon it. However, just like now there were a great many soldiers about. Some were holding back an unruly crowd of peasants and some were slacking off, but the great majority of them were gathered around a large wooden stake that reached to the cathedral's second floor, surrounded by jagged pieces of wood that they were lumping together in a rising pile.

In the center of that pile, tied to the stake, a voluptuous woman in gypsy tunics of rose and white lay roped tight with a black zipper hood obscuring her face however much she thrashed against it. Right on cue, Minister Frollo arrived in his carriage and all the slackers hurried back to their posts even as the crowd became even more desperate to break through the protective cordon.

"Horrible", was all he could think to comment, only then realizing that the rest of the circle still had their eyes shut in concentration, with Esmerelda steadfastly refusing to let go of his hand. She could, however, talk to him. "Don't move", she warned him wistfully. "This is a memory. It already happened. Nothing you do can change it." Demonstrating her point, a soldier then walked directly through him to present Frollo with an unlit brazier. The Minister had changed very little over three years, though his skin still bore a light shade of pink instead of the deathly gray hues Sora knew it would become. He grimly stepped right through their circle, towards the stake and the woman bound to it.

"Citizens of Paris!", Frollo announced commandingly over the din of angry accusations the crowd now hurled at him. Strangely, the people of the city seemed more opposed to him than they were in the present time. "We are gathered here today to exorcise an unholy demon in our midst. By the authority granted to me by the will of our Lord, the gypsy witch _Relena_ is hereby charged with practicing the forbidden satanic arts, teaching others those same arts, theft, seduction, drug trafficking, and impersonating a member of the clergy. How do you plead?"

Relena's response was muffled by the stifling hood, and Frollo beckoned one soldier forward to remove it, undoing the zipper. Yet even as he did so, the image began to slide out of focus, the remembered sounds fading away into random ones, and the sight of the long-dead woman's face banishing all other images including Frollo. Lost in unthinking, instinctive anger, Sora saw several of the gypsies in the circle fall back clutching their heads, but his attention was all for the face of Relena, even as his own mind twisted her face and hair into the garments, setting, and demeanor that he knew all too well from his own dark nightmares. He could even hear her laughter, her voice, that cloying, sadistically amused voice that served only to mask a depthless cruelty towards others...

_So you are really are a hero. A Heartless hero._

_Oh, does that hurt because it's the truth?_

_Did you forget? I'M a bad guy, so you'll have to go through me!_

_Heeheeheehee... You're so much fun to watch!_

_Oh well. More pain for you means more fun for me!_

"Mon dieu", Clopin finally managed as he stood up in the tent again, the fastest of the gypsies to recover from the nightmare vision assaulting their minds. "What was _that _all about?"

"That woman is not Relena!", Sora answered him, eyes stretched wide with fury and shock of his own that only grew as he sank deeper into a tide of painful memories. "She's _Larxene_!"

* * *

_Justice is swift in the Court of Miracles_

_I am the lawyers and judge all in one_

_We like to get the trial over with quickly_

_Because it's the sentence that's really the fun_

_* * *_

M: Not sure how much of a reveal this is, given that you've had plenty of hints and another story was published recently with Larxene's original self as 'Ralene'. Bad timing, that's all. All the same, I'd really appreciate some feedback or commentary now, if only to insure I'm not writing at thin air. Plus I think I like the next character the best so far, so drop me a line.


	8. Huit

Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts, Hunchback of Notre Dame and Final Fantasy are not my IP.

* * *

Huit

* * *

"Die, traitor!"

He'd been out of it too long, Delita Hyral realized. A few days ago he could have beaten his attackers down in minutes, but now it seemed to him he had to work much harder for each stroke. He pivoted, taking his sword underneath the first soldier's wild slash and into his gut, only to feel it bounce off a thick plate he devoutly missed having. He parried the other one and leapt back, only to see a third man emerging from a lavatory spot the fight and draw his blade.

Maybe it was the blood loss, or the fact that he was now having to fight without armor and ensure he dodged every blow, but his movements felt sluggish and unnatural. If he didn't do something to even the odds soon, he might actually die here, at the hands of three average soldiers whose names he hadn't even bothered to learn while in the city guard.

Then someone helped him. Coated in the black of night, a misshapen mass of muscle fell upon the other two soldiers, punching one in the gut to pitch him over and grabbing the other with a brutish hay lift. Without looking up, Delita took the remaining guard in the back with his blade, creating a jagged line of white that burned as he fell. "So", he spoke conversationally, looking up at the hunchback as he plunged his sword into the last survivor with similar results. "What made you change your mind?"

"My friends", Quasimodo replied non-commitally, his larger eye looking almost sinister in the dark alleys of the city. "And I remembered something that can help us."

Delita glanced around the street. No one else seemed to be coming their way. The city almost felt too quiet, their little skirmish notwitstanding. He'd had a hundred soldiers under his command while serving Frollo, and had almost as many under Jaques du Salera. There should have been way more soldiers congregating at the entrance to the Court of Miracles, but the streets seemed deserted for now. Not even the fires pierced the gloom.

"All right, what is it?"

Drawing closer, the hunchback raised an oval-shaped stencil pattern on a string. It featured many colors but didn't seem to have anything approaching a clue. "It's a band."

"Esmerelda gave it to me when we first met", Quasimodo explained proudly. "I didn't figure it out until later, but she told me that 'when you wear this woven band, you hold the city in your hand'."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, the ex-Captain stared back. "Yesss. So?"

"It's the city", the hunchback declared. "See, here's the river and all the bridges, here's the cathedral in the center, and-"

Curious, he looked closer. The thing looked far too symmetrical and homespun to be map, but then he wasn't a native of this World. Quasimodo was. "So, that red and white star symbol is...?"

"The entrance to the Court of Miracles", Quasi deduced. "Let's go!"

"In a moment", he told his malformed companion. "Go on. There's something I want to do first. Won't take long. Go."

A bit confused, but focused on his goal, Quasimodo gestured for the route he was taking and ran off. For once, Delita felt bad about using the kid in such a way, but then he hadn't asked to be followed by him. He was a strange one, alright. A malformed visage that would have had him labelled a demon in Ivalice coupled with the emotional level of a child. Not stupid, but uncomplicated, and utterly smitten with the girl Esmerelda. Other people might take advantage of him simply by accident. Either way, he was still a citizen of Notre Dame, and apprenticed under a Minister of the church to boot. Seeing what he was going to do now would destroy whatever shred of an alliance they might have.

Quasimodo had flung one of their foes out of reach, but the other two remained on the cobblestones where they had fallen. In a few more minutes they'd both expire. The burning white cuts he'd inflicted would become nothing more than ordinary slash wounds, leaving no traces of the very special properties of his sword. A few minutes they would not get, as he raised the blade to the stars and concentrated, gripping it tight to activate its special power.

The white cuts then exploded into flames, burning both bodies out from the inside in clouds of unnaturally dark smoke that funneled towards the guiding spire of his blade. When it cleared, two short scurrying creatures with glowing white eyes and long antennae were left behind, their uniform texture of rippling darkness providing good camoflage for this time of night.

Delita, however, was disappointed. All that for only two NeoShadows; not even Soldiers, or any Nobodies at all. "Weakasses", he scoffed at the two small Heartless awaiting orders before him. "Fine. I guess you'll have to do. Go find Minister Claude Frollo. His heart is your meal."

The Heartless seemed confused for a while, but then caught on and melted into their puddle forms, obeying. With any luck, they'd distract Frollo at a crucial moment. All the same, he'd expected a bit more power from folks who'd nearly beaten him. Things were getting cagey. For now, he'd have to keep a low profile, following after Quasimodo in hopes that his 'map' theory was right.

When this was over, however, he'd _definitely_ have to talk to Maleficent about upping the dark power of the blade somehow.

* * *

The Grand Gate was an imposing sight. It had started life as a simple sewer grate, but over time the gypsy underground had reinforced it and placed all manner of protective measures upon its brick archway, ranging from a blood-red powder that was supposed to repel evil beings to several scraps of paper bearing arcane lettering of ancient tongues. With every bar inscribed with similar markings, Sora could tell by looking upon the massive rolling stone door at the back of the Court of Miracles that this was meant to keep something _in_, not out.

"We call it _Tonnesectere_", one of Clopin's bearded lieutenants explained to him bluntly, catching up at the gate and unwilling to let him pass. "A giant insect creature. When it appeared some years back, we could not allow it to destroy our sanctuary, and so master Clopin exercised all of his power to seal it further down in the darkest levels of the catacombs, behind the Gate. Sometimes, late at night, the children can still hear its angry roars, echoing through the deepest depths of these catacombs like thunder... T'would be suicide for you to go, monsieur."

"It's _calling_ to me", Sora told him, explaining why he'd woken up from a perfectly nice nap. Though no one saw the sun down here, there was a generally agreed-upon time when the majority of the Court's citizens went to bed. Esmerelda and Clopin, both tired and confused from the ritual, had called it a 'day' already. Sora, on the other hand, could not bring himself to rest when a strange presence intruded on his mind in this way. The disturbing, ethereal dreams it had woken him with reminded him of the bizarre one he'd had before first encountering the Heartless, and not in a good way.

"Clopin says you are very strong fighter, boy", the gypsy acknowledged him, tucking his chestnut beard back into long, flowy robes that obscured everything but his face. "But even you cannot hope to stand up to such an abomination. We of the Court have sworn to keep it locked down here in the dark until it is gone. Just one more reason why it is imperative that the church never find this place."

Looking back at the Grand Gate as if expecting to see some sign of the beast locked within, Sora frowned at the man's caution. "It's really that bad?"

The gruff man's eyes tightened into specks, his dark skin tightening with them. "Worse. It reproduces, creating dark creatures subservient to it that feed upon humans, transform them into their own kind in turn. It is a nightmare straight from the Rapture, my boy. We take no chances."

Even he could easily recognize that particular attribute, but Sora still could not understand why a Heartless of all things would be telepathically calling out to _him_, a Keyblade master. The mere fact that it had done so made him consider not going, fearful of a trap, but his instincts said just the opposite. If this _Tonnsectere_ Heartless really was as bad as everyone said, he owed it to them to take his best shot at destroying it. _It couldn't possibly be bigger than the Groundshaker._

_Besides_, he mused onward, _I could at least accomplish __**something**__ important in this World before I leave. _The fact that he'd been chasing down a person who'd been turned into a Nobody more than three years ago still rankled him, as did the fact that he'd been led to believe such a cruel person as Larxene of Organization XIII would ever help him. If ever they met again, he was going to have a long talk with the 'Keyblade Knights' who had gotten him into all this.

"I don't like to brag, mister", he tried as the gypsy beckoned him towards his tent for a warm cup of tea. "But that thing sounds an awful lot like a Heartless, and I've destroyed enough of those things that I'm sure I can take whatever this insect dishes out."

The man's eyebrows arched in reproach, the very picture of the wise old man disappointed by the blind arrogance of youth. At once Sora felt as though he were imposing on his hosts. "I tell you what", he managed, wrapping one bandaged arm around the boy's shoulder. "If you can best master Clopin, we'll let you give it a try. For all his skill he could not defeat it, and opening the Grand Gate's protection for even a second to let you pass through into the underlevels is a risk."

"Okay", he agreed. "But I'm not so good at fighting my friends."

The old man chuckled warmly. "Who _is_? That's why they're your friends."

Clopin was already up by the time they finished dinner together, but Sora banished all ideas of challenging him after seeing the melancholy expression on the jester's face. While garbed in the mask and riotous colors he usualy wore in the city, the eternally-joking clown was nowhere to be seen upon his face as he waited at a table, patting a chair expectantly while looking directly at Sora with maudlin eyes. Had he been crying?

"Monsieur Sora", Clopin spoke absently, tinkering with his drink. "I see Lamperouge has been showing you the Grand Gate."

"He said if I could beat you, he would let me through", Sora explained, not wanting to beat around the bush this time of night. "Not yet, though."

Tilting his marine blue face mask, Clopin took a deep sip. "_Non_. Trouble's on the horizon, Clopin felt it. Now is not the time to be arguing who is better. Perhaps a different form of competition?"

Looking into his cup, Sora made a show of mulling it over, knowing full well that the gypsy leader was simply joking around, even amidst this most serious of times. "I'm too young for a drinking contest. How about a footrace?"

Clopin drummed his feet on the floor rapidly and smiled. "Perhaps later. Monsieur Sora... Clopin has been thinking about what you have said about the Nobodies and the Heartless, and how they are created. You say this Larxene woman you so dislike was nearly identical to my Relena?"

Knowing that he'd greatly offended his host the first time he'd lost control, Sora simply nodded calmly- the tea helped, and whatever Clopin was drinking seemed to make him less prone to outbursts or turning everything into a joke. He was even referring to himself as 'me', something he almost never did. "Yes. Almost the exact same. I don't like telling you this Clopin, but she was... Well, _evil_. Even more so than a lot of the other members of the Organization. Larxene was the cruelest woman I've ever met. Is that okay?"

"Okay?", Clopin asked him aloud, managing to sound incredulous even while deep in thought, or drunk. "Okay? Au contraire, it actually makes things a great deal _easier _for Clopin to bear if you are correct."

"What do you mean?" Then, when Clopin had drifted too deeply into musings to pay him attention, he carefully locked eyes with the raven-haired jester. "I want to know the _truth_, Clopin. I promise I'll behave this time."

The clown turned out two of his pockets and shrugged as if expecting to find more of the gypsy 'memory-powder' in there. "Clopin cannot be sure", he answered, suddenly dead-serious. "But he knows what it looks like. Trouble executed Lady Relena in the square that day, burning her at the stake. There was no sign of a body, or even bones when the fires went out. And then, not a day later, Mademoiselle Relena returns from the dead to attack the Palace of Justice, suddenly possessing more power than her apprentice ever knew her to have. Too, she had never before _laughed _while killing someone."

Sora strove to stay focused, going over each clue as Clopin presented it. He took a moment to realize that 'her apprentice' was Clopin talking about himself in the third person again. "You think the fires turned her into a Nobody? _Larxene _attacked the Palace of Justice three years ago?"

"C'nes pas possible?", Clopin shot back expectantly. "_If_ your theory on the darkness of the heart is correct, monsieur Sora, then it is possible Lady Relena's heart was consumed with darkness instead of the fire. Too, it was only a week after the attack on the Palace that we first encountered_ le Tonnesectere._"

"Right", Sora concluded. This was starting to make some sense at last. "Whenever a Nobody is created, then a Heartless is too, although sometimes you just get a Heartless. But why? Lady Relena didn't have an evil heart, did she?"

"Never", Clopin assured him. "But knowing your own inevitable death can do _terrible_ things to a person's heart, monsieur Sora. Particularly when it is visited out of fear and prejudice." Glancing over at the tent when Esmerelda was still sleeping soundly, he gave a nod of concern towards her. "Lady Relena despised Trouble just as much as Lady Esmerelda, and God knows Clopin fears every day that the same may happen to her."

"I see", Sora sank back in his chair, inevitably travelling over the grim words of another dark being he was actually _glad_ had been destroyed: _A heart is born from hatred and suffering. Darkness sprouts with it, it grows, consumes it. Such is its nature! In the End, all hearts return to the darkness whence they came._

Sora shivered. He wasn't nearly so optimistic about mortality as he had been back when he'd seen his first Heartless rise out of the Destiny Island sands. Over two years of world-hopping he had matured, faced the very real possibility of violent death many times, and he had mused over the concept more than once.

But never once had he considered that facing an unavoidable death would turn his own heart to rage and despair, consuming it until he was nothing but another spawn of the darkness, only ever able to feel lingering hatred towards his killer. Was that what was going to happen when his luck finally ran out? Were _all _beings condemned to that fate as they were all condemned to an eventual death?

_In the End, every light must fade. Every heart return to darkness._

"_No!_", he sat up over the table abruptly, drawing a dozen gypsy eyes to his outburst. "No. I didn't believe it then, and I don't believe it now. There had to be something more to her transformation here, some clue that we're missing. People _don't _just turn into a Heartless because they died. If that was the case, the Heartless would be even _more_ numerous than they were when I first fought them."

"I trust your words", Clopin concurred, recognizing the Keyblade master's argument being both passionate and unusually logical for him. "You are our highest authority on this matter. Regardless of what actually happened, everyone in Notre Dame took the Lady Relena's attack on the Palace of Justice as a sign that Trouble and the Order of Rheims were _correct _in their assessment of our people. That deep down inside, we were all devils and killers just waiting to be unleashed, forever accursed by God for our independence. There are few people who are willing to help us these days, monsieur Sora. Very, very few."

"To say nothing of the blow your own heart must have felt", Sora reminded him gently, refusing to part eyes. "Everyone here knows that you two were in love with each other before she was burned. You were her apprentice, weren't you? Then, after she was burned, it looked like she'd become evil, didn't it?"

Clopin had no masks left in him now, only a gaping hole in his heart that he always kept under alternating layers of good cheer and sarcasm, never healing, and never forgotten. "Everyone said she was a witch, a sinner, a _monster_", he spat out, staring hard into his empty mug for empty seconds and letting tears fall into it. "_And she proved them right_."

Just like that, his first layer was back up. He crossed himself, stood and clapped an arm to Sora's shoulder. "They said it drove me mad. Mad! But everyone knows Clopin is not mad, isn't that right monsieur purple frog?"

_Maybe just a little bit 'mad'_, Sora acknowledged as he staged-smiled and waved to the crowd Clopin was holding him up before. _But so what? He's still a great leader to his people, and still my friend. And he's had to suffer with that horrible guilt and doubt for far too long before learning the truth._

Any further demonstrations of how not-mad the jester was were interrupted however, by a sudden ringing noise. While Sora curiously peeked into Clopin's tent to see several of the wire-mounted silver bells ringing, their owner did not even wait that long before rallying several of his people to him. "Another time, mon ami", he called to Sora while donning a more serious-looking robe and heading for the main exit. "It's just as Clopin saw. The spy who will bring disaster to us draws near."

"A spy?", Sora echoed back from the tent, surprised. "How did they know?"

The gypsy leader shrugged, face darkened with the duty he now had to perform. "All Clopin knows is, that this spy will soon learn the _other _reason why we call this place the Court of Miracles. See you soon."

Sora shuddered for the spy.

* * *

"We're being followed", Delita Hyral noted, striding through another green basin of God-knew-what in liquid form, already feeling oppressed by the gloom of this reeking cross between catacombs and sewers that Quasimodo believed led to the Court of Miracles. "You know that, right?''

"I do", Quasimodo shot back, careful not to stop and give away that fact. Though they were allies for now, the hunchback wasn't forgetting the ex-Captain's past actions anytime soon. The possibility of betrayal must have occurred to even _his_ primitive mind, hence how they'd been sniping at each other the whole way in. "Nobodies. What do you suggest we do about them?"

Delita scoffed. "What else? Destroy them. You can fight, right?"

"I don't know how many of them there are. If Sora or Ramza were here we'd be okay, but..."

There was that 'Sora' kid again. Whatever else he'd been doing around here while Notre Dame burned, he'd certainly made an impression on the hunchback. Who _was_ he, anyway? Another interworld traveller? Whatever the case, if Quasimodo was to be believed he was the greatest fighter this World had ever seen, able to blend both swordsmanship and magicks into an unstoppable offense. He vowed to make sure to at least see this kid in action once before he finished up here. Damaged as he felt sometimes, there was still room in his heart to appreciate a veteran warrior practicing the art of organized death that was a fact of life in his World.

"It's either that or let them into the Court of Miracles. I hope I don't have to tell you that they're working for Frollo."

"It crossed my mind." All at once, the hunchback halted in the middle of another pool of ankle-deep sewage. "I guess you're right. There's really no way out but to fight. On three."

He smirked, pausing in the spot as Quasimodo with his eyes closed. "Get the ones with the masks first. They can revive the others."

They turned, drawing sword and fist without even giving Quasi time to ask how he knew that. A gliding Dusk took the initiative and was cut down for its trouble. On the left, a Priest and a Sorcerer Nobody emerged from the water, somehow not drenched in the scum they'd been hiding beneath. The hunchback wasted no time in hammering the former into a moldy brick wall, taking it out with a second strike to the face.

Impressed, Delita shifted to dodge a stream of tiny magic cubes and saw two more Dusks zigzagging their way through the tunnel. While the hunchback was a slow fighter and a bulky target, every blow he landed that didn't finish a foe off sent them flying, stunned enough by the power so that one could strike the coup de grace without trouble. Not wanting to be upstaged, he bisected the Sorcerer's defensive barrier, having to slash it several more times to finish the job.

Seveal more white husks popped up and several more fell. Thankfully this was only a recon force, not meant to kill them, for it was not long before both the fighter from Ivalice and Notre Dame felt the accumulation of their injuries slowing them down to a crawl. Breathlessly punching out the last Dusk, Quasi sank down close to the muck and put out one hand to hold himself up. "Not fun."

"For once we agree", the ex-Captain gasped, leaning against a wall. "But then, I've never enjoyed killing as much as some in my land. If these things can be considered to be 'alive'."

"Your land", the hunchback echoed, leaving Delita to curse his carelessness. Fortunately, the kid didn't seem to care. "What's it like in your World, anyway? Is it nice?"

He couldn't help a mirthless chuckle at that. "There are green hills and rivers, grasslands as far as the eye can see... But I would never call it 'nice'."

"Why not?"

Where to begin? "My land is a place of anarchy and turmoil, Quasimodo. It is a place rigidly divided between the 'haves' and the 'have-nots'. The sharpest swords and the devious minds rule the land while the common folk rot in the gutters. By comparison, your Notre Dame is a major improvement. The only city in my land that even comes close to its grandeur is Lesalia, the capital." He paused. "Though admittedly no one ever burned Lesalia down to catch _one_ person."

"I'd like to see it someday", the hunchback remarked as if Delita had been describing paradise.

His eyes narrowed. "Why? So you can watch the knights killing each other over nothing? The aristocrats bickering in their gilded palaces? The peasant children starving in their broken-down slums?!"

"So I can experience it", Quasi finished. "There is an old saying in the church that goes: 'the grass is always greener on the other side'. If it's so bad, why didn't you try to improve things?"

Ah. So the gypsy girl had been talking to him about their little encounter in the cathedral. As entertaining as this was, they were getting a little too close to the real reason for his mission here. "I _tried_ to improve things. It was... An enlightening experience."

It seemed that was that. He wasn't going to risk coming any closer to the truth. They had both regained enough strength to keep going, and so the monster and man moved onwards down the tunnels. Piles of skulls decorated various places now, and Quasimodo recoiled from their touch.

Delita stopped again. Something wasn't right here. "We're being fol-"

Rough ropes siezed their necks and mouths before he could finish, pressing them against a wall and threatening to black him out from the lack of oxygen. As he'd almost caught onto in time, the gypsy guards had been disguising themselves as skeletons with matte black suits and white body paint, hanging motionless until they'd already passed by. There were at least four of them there, and in their current state Delita dreaded having to fight even one. Two of them held Quasi and Delita tight, while the other two removed their skull masks. One of these did a double take.

"_Quasimodo_?", he asked incredulously. "Is that really Quasimodo? Et tu? Et TU? Oh non. Ooh-non-non-non-non-non...", here he banged his head against the dirty wall melodramatically, black hair hanging down as he pretended to cry. "Leading a spy right into our hallowed home... Lady Esmerelda will be _crushed_. She liked you, you know. How terrible of you to turn on us like this."

Trust them to get exactly the wrong idea. "We're _not _spies!", Delita protested, forcing himself free of the rope and gag for a split second. "We're here to-"

"DON'T interrupt me!", the raven-haired gypsy cut in, obviously the leader of the group. As if to prove that beyond all doubt, he snapped his gloved fingers and flashed a new gag into place on Delita's mouth with an explosion of green powder. This one was sticky, humiliating, and could not be removed no matter how the young Ivalician worked his jaw. _Never seen that before. Maybe Frollo was right to fear them, or at least their leaders._

"A moment, mes amis", the leader finished solemnly, letting his burly men escort their captives deeper still into the tunnels beneath the city. "I simply must compose some way of delivering the bad _noose_ to Lady Esmerelda tonight."

* * *

They didn't have to wait long. Quick as clockwork, the men shackled Delita and Quasimodo down in a pair of wooden stocks, draping ropes around both their necks, a little one and an extra-large they had to bring in for the hunchback's neck. The whole of shelter-turned-town had turned out for this, either out of boredom or a real desire to see some retaliation against the people who had forced them underground. For a moment they both agreed it a silver lining that none of the angry outcasts had tomatoes.

All the same, things were grim. The gypsy leader was dressed in a judge's robes, but no one doubted it was nothing but a 'show' trial, simply more of their leader's eccentricities. If Lady Relena had still been in charge, they might have skipped the theatrics altogether and gone straight to the finale.

"And soooooo", the masked leader was winding up his diatribe, "we have a double-header here for your amusement today, ladies and gentlemen and... Miscellaneous! A couple of Frollo's spies! And not just any spies; his Captain of the Guard, and his loyal, bellringing, _hench_-back!"

"Wait!", Quasi called out in desperation. "I need to see Esmerelda! _Please_, just let me talk to her!"

For once, the gypsy looked quite sad, kneeling close to Quasi's ears, enough so Delita could hear him too even if he could not talk. "And let you break her heart, dear boy? She has had more than enough of _that_, I assure you. Perhaps you should have been more careful in choosing your loyalties. Next time, maybe." Shifting back into showman mode with a wink, the leader looked like he was going to pull the skull-handled lever just off to the right of the stocks, but instead brought around one of the sock puppets he normally used in children's pantomime. Its presence down here seemed like a violation, somehow. "Now then, on with the sent-"

"Wait, OBJECTION!", a voice thundered from somewhere. Both the condemned took a moment to realize that their 'judge' had produced the voice, and he now answered his own hand puppet with mock-rage as they went back and forth:

"Overruled!"

"Hold it!"

"Enough!"

"Objection!"

"QUIET!"

"...Dang."

_Please. Esmerelda. Esmerelda. Please let me see her, just one last time... My death is nothing if I can just save her...!_

_This song and dance would be __**slightly **__funny if it didn't involve my death. Oh, God. Oh God no. I can't die yet... No... Not until... All the Worlds are united... No no no no...!_

"We find you _totally_ innocent", the leader sang slowly as if their deaths were a mere game, leaving them to their seperate trains of thought. "Which is the worst crime of all... So you're going to HANG!"

"Quasimodo?"

Saved by a single word, the hunchback opened his eyes. There she was, standing in the square as if disbelieving what she was seeing. Thankfully, she snapped out of that fast enough: "What the hell are you _doing_, Clopin?! Release him at once!"

"Hm. The Lady makes a compelling argument", their would-be executioner mused aloud, cradling his goatee as if considering, and turning to his sock puppet companion for answers. "The verdict?" Without any visible movement, the sock fell from his hand to the floor. He peered down, looking surprised. "Oh. Case dismissed, then."

From life to death and back again in a flick of the wrist, both the condemned stood up from their stocks with gratitude in their eyes. Quasimodo ran blissfully into the arms of the girl he'd come all this way to save, and Sora emerged from a tent to join the congregating crowd near Delita. "I hope you're not expecting me to hug you", he cracked at the ex-Captain. "How did you ever get down here?"

Sizing up the increasingly-renowned Keyblade master, Delita grimaced, not sure how friendly he wanted to get with the kid or the gypsy leader who had nearly taken his life. "Through a great deal of stank water. They must have bribed an architect to build this place underneath the old graveyards, hooked it up to the sewers."

"And we are all the thinner for it", Clopin commented dryly, plopping his hat onto the ex-Captain's brown hair and tussling it up like they were lost brothers instead of enemies. "Apologizes, mes amis. But you know what they say about being too careful."

"You're forgiven", he decided after a deliberate pause. "But don't thank me. Thank Quasimodo. If he hadn't figured out that woven band out, we never would have been able to find you."

"NOR WOULD I!"

Everyone in the Court turned to the source of the booming voice. Djali hid under his owner's tunic. Esmerelda and Quasimodo drew back in fear and shock. Clopin gasped in the opposite direction. Delita and Sora scowled and drew their weapons. At least two dozen gypsies panicked and ran.

For across the way near the entrace, the Court's gypsy guards lay facedown on the floor. Claude Frollo stood silhouetted against the dark entryway, arms folded, with hundreds of armed soldiers spilling in behind him.

"Stand down!"

Sora turned to look at Delita in shock, but the ex-Captain kept his hardened gaze on the advancing army as he grudgingly sheathed his dark sword. "Too many to fight. They've won this round."

He spoke the truth, Sora realized. Even if he was willing to go all-out against human opponents without worrying about their safety- which he wasn't- they _would_ eventually get overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Even with a miracle, Frollo could still call in his Nobodies. Far more reluctantly than Delita, he willed the Keyblade away, causing it to disappear.

Frollo, in the meantime, was approaching Quasimodo with a genuine smile, though not a comforting one. "Ah, Quasimodo. I always knew you'd someday prove your usefulness to me, but in this case you've outdone yourself."

"What do you mean?", Sora saw Esmerelda shout, stricken eyes refusing to accept what was happening. Twenty years of secrecy, all undone in an instant, everyone she knew bound in shackles.

Frollo turned to her now, eager to confess the truth. "Why, he led me right to you, my dear. There are more undesirables down here than the city has dogs."

"Damn you...", Esmerelda bit out, nearly spasming with fury so it took three soldiers to hold her down. "Damn you...!"

With all resistance pacified, the Minister went further down the line of captives, some held by soldiers and others simply acknowledging there was no way out of this. Leering, still unable to contain his satisfaction, he leaned over each one in turn, doing his best to leave any thought of resistance or defiance in ruins. "Ah, this would be the so-called 'Keyblade Master' Sora, would it not? Your skills are already well known by my men. Every scarred, injured one of them."

"Pleased to make your acquintance, ma'am. How's Brother Jehan?", he replied, not looking up. Not perfect, but it was the best rebuke he could think of on short notice, and his hosts had taught him the best way to insult the Minister was to use his brother's name.

Still ecstatic, Frollo didn't flinch. "And such cheek. You have talent, boy. A shame you elected to waste it on the wrong side." On that note, Frollo strode over to Delita, pressing hard on his wound with one palm. "Speaking of wrong sides, if it isn't Captain Hyral, back from the dead! Another 'miracle', I presume. We shall remedy that."

"The dead can't return from the world beyond this one, minister", Delita shot back with venom. "A fact you'll deplore when I am finished with you."

Now it was the ringleader's turn. Frollo looked up and down the man's multicolored outfit, wincing before looking him straight in the eye. "Que-tu... Clopin?"

Clopin waited several seconds, all the while looking as pleased as if he'd just had a tasty meal before speaking a rapid-fire rant of at least a dozen foreign words Sora could not understand one syllable of. It must have been something truly obscene however, because Frollo struck the jester in the face with all his might afterwards, a hammer blow leaving him unconscious for the soldiers to tie up.

" 'Legion are the aspects of evil'... All of Notre Dame's enemies gathered in a single place", the Minister finally commented to himself in adulation, loud enough for everyone to hear. "...All of them, except Ramza the Heretic. But none of you need worry; he'll be joining us for the bonfire in the square tomorrow... Lock them up."

Everyone had various degrees of despair on their face as the soldiers dragged them off, but it was Quasimodo who Sora felt the worst for, even if none of the soldiers were touching him yet. More than anger, more than fear of execution, his face was scrunched into an expression of complete surrender as he sank to his knees with the horror of what he'd done. Against all advice against it, he'd traveled to the Court of Miracles, to the last sanctuary of gypsies, of all who opposed the destruction of their city, of the woman he loved.

Now, he'd destroyed it.

* * *

_In all your fantasies_

_You always knew_

_That man and mystery_

_We're both in you_

_And in this labyrinth_

_Where night is blind_

_* * *_

M: A cautionary tale I'll never forget for the rest of my days... B_eware of free antivirus programs, no matter how professional they look!_

That's right, my computer is currently fighting a nasty bit of rogue spyware called Antivir 2010_, _which fooled me just long enough to implant itself. I have multiple antivirus programs working on it but the prognosis is grim, and thus I may be a while in making my next update. In any case, hope you liked this chapter_.  
_


	9. Neuf

Disc: Kingdom Hearts. Not mine. Etc.

* * *

Neuf

* * *

There was something wicked in the air that day. All of Notre Dame seemed affected, from the sky that seemed reluctant to lose the scarlet glow of the fires below to the way the light refused to touch the ruined husks of various buildings that had been burned to the ground in only the past few days. Many had compared it to how they imagined the Rapture. Fully a third of the city's structures had been lost, and the remaining third of citizens brave enough to stay behind faced a gathering of royal proportions in the grand square before the cathedral, where the damage was not quite as extensive as some areas.

The condemned, restrained in stockades and manacles, were a mixed bag of famous faces and anonymous gypsies, but they had all been around long enough to know what their eventual fate would be. A unit of six drumming soldiers was slowly building up a staccato of beats for the centerpiece: the gypsy Esmerelda, blindfolded, securely tied from feet to arms to a stake virtually identical to the one Madame Relena had been burned upon more than three years ago.

The mere sight of it made Clopin recoil in his restraints, alternately unable to look away from the dark scene and dreading its final result. In retrospect, he told himself that it didn't matter how much the worst possible outcome would sway the hearts and minds of Paris. All that mattered was that the fate he'd always tried so hard to steer his embittered protege away from was about to come down. Esmerelda was about to die, and would know herself to be doomed the moment the pile of wood that rested around her was ignited. History was on the verge of repeating itself. He cursed Minister Frollo and all his men as a mere afterthought.

Here and there signs of enduring dissent still made themselves evident. Just like at Relena's burning, a band of rebellious citizenry did everything within their power to get through the cordon short of rushing into drawn swords. Several soldiers dithered over their orders, still bothered by their niggling consciences over the execution of an innocent woman. The new captain regarded Esmerelda's bound and blinded form with pitying eyes, wishing it could have gone another way. No one with any sense blamed her for the city's burning, and no one dared taunt or torment her beyond the restraints, lest the dissenters incite themselves to the final level of violence that meant open rebellion.

Then the Minister arrived in his carriage, and everything resumed as normal. Held fast by a stockade identical to the one he'd been trapped in before, Delita Hyral scowled at the reaction. A hundred, two hundred loyal soldiers, and not one of them with the willpower to match Frollo's. Even Jaques du Salera forced himself to look away from it all, proceeding with the brief ceremonials and delivering a brazier to the Minister's very hands.

The Hunchback of Notre Dame was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

At some point, someone had locked Quasimodo back in the bell tower. He could not tell who had done so or when, only that it had happened. It didn't matter. The questions came but did not motivate him. Not anymore.

There were four metal shackles, one for each limb, each one holding him fast to one of the larger pillars in the tower. Out at the front he could look down and see the massive crowd gathered in the square, at least the size of the Feast of Fool's crowd way back when, as well as the stake where Esmerelda was to be burned. The rest of his friends were down there too. None of the chains felt like the yielding kind, stronger than any shackle he'd ever felt and anchored into pillars at the other ends of the room for stability.

His other friends _would__ not shut up_. Even out here on the balcony, he could hear their voices calling out, Hugo, Laverne, and Victor, pleading with him to break his bonds and get on down to the square before it was too late. He was the strongest guy in all of Paris, they reasoned. Surely a few little chains would be no problem, right?

He shifted slightly. The chains became taut but did not show any sign of breaking. _Satisfied?_

He could not let Frollo win, they implored. Down there was the one person who truly cared about him the way he was. Would he simply wait and watch and let her be destroyed?

"Not again", he murmured to himself, sinking to where only the chains held him upright. "Not again. It took a while, but I learned my lesson."

Break the chains. Break them now. Save everyone.

"Good idea", he replied, a harsh undercurrent of sarcasm seeming unusual for his voice as it grew in volume. He had had little need for it until now. "Good idea, yes, yes, yes, yes. I'll break free, swing down the tower... And hit the stake and end up impaling Esmerelda. Oh, wait! Even better! I'll swing down, grab her, let go of the rope, and then all of the soldiers can hack us into little pieces! Or best of all, I can swing down, save her, and let the TOWNSFOLK be the ones to do it! _These are the best ideas I have ever had_!", he howled to the orange sky. No one in the square noticed.

Having stunned his friends into silence, he fell into it himself, barely audible again. "I've _learned _my lesson, okay? Every time I try to leave my home and help someone, it backfires. Every time. Everyone would just be better off without me. I need to stay in here, where I can't hurt anyone else. Ever."

His friends had caught on. Nothing they said or did could penetrate this veil of shame that gripped him, separated his mind from the world like a dreadful cocoon. They had finally given up, and left him alone. Good.

* * *

Sora thrashed and kicked to no result; the stocks that held him were well-built and he could not get the Keyblade around to the proper angle to cut himself or anyone else loose with it.

The only thing he'd accomplished in the ominous hours approaching the execution was to drive the soldier assigned to guarding him nearly mad with his having taken away his weapon three times now, only to have it materialize back in the Keyblade master's bound hands. "Laugh now, devil child", the tall guard snarled, finally giving up. "That witchcraft won't save you when your time comes, and your soul will be my throwpiece in otherworld."

"Actually, that's not a spell", Sora replied, turning his head as best he could in the stockade and smiling sweetly. "Would you like to see one?" The question sounded so childishly innocent, as if he genuinely thought that this was the time or place for it. Sora had Thundaga in mind, but the irritable man could not be goaded so easily into giving the captives any leeway. Wrinkling his long nose, he scoffed, punched Sora in the face once and turned back to the main event as if nothing had happened.

"It was a good try, monsieur", Lamperouge called to him from the next wooden prison over. With Clopin held in a different area of the square he was the nominal leader of the gypsy captives here. "But I am surprised. You are not worried about what lies beyond?"

Sora studied the cobblestones, unable to crane his neck far enough to face his friend. "Hey, don't talk like that- it isn't over yet. On Destiny Islands we never really looked too much into things like that. We lived for today."

"How bold", Lamperouge observed from his own imprisonment, and for once the soldiers did not hit him to make him be quiet. "And so much like our kind. Certainly, the state of one's soul is a matter to be treated with the utmost care, for it is that which sets us apart from mindless beasts. 'Tis foolhardy, however, to allow fear for one's soul to let others control you. This is partly why we stood apart from the clergy, who had so many of its members abusing their power then and now."

"I see what you mean", Sora said, shooting off an acidic glare at Frollo as he passed.

Lamperouge shook his withered-looking head, chuckling to himself. "Ah. Ah. Not like him. For all his faults, Judge Claude Frollo never used his power to force a girl into bed with him, or stuffed his face with food bought with tax money, or any number of crimes other members of the order of Rheims are guilty of. He had always been a level-headed persecutor, until the Festival..."

"It almost sounds like you admire him", Sora shot back. "I'd say this ranks up there with the others. Not to mention a few other things he's hidden from everyone. What can we do?"

"Nothing", the gypsy answered bleakkly. "Unless a miracle is granted to us, it will be the end of us all, though perhaps Frollo would spare you if you swore your weapon to his service." Sensing the boy's disdain for such an option, he gazed up at the cathedral's twin spires solemnly. "Think about it for a moment, monsieur Sora. It's your only chance, and the rest of us have none. What do _you_ expect from the otherworld when your time finally comes? Redemption? Contrition? Will your soul become the plaything of those you have slain in your journey?"

He paused, and Lamperouge knew he had finally gotten the boy thinking it over carefully, unversed as he remained in matters of the soul. "I've only ever destroyed Heartless and Nobodies", he spoke solemnly, voicing an issue he'd never felt comfortable enough to admit before. "Heartless I'll never feel guilty for, but... Looking back, there were Nobodies I defeated who seemed almost human even with their hearts missing."

Unfamiliar with the details as Clopin had been, the man simply afforded him a nod. Sora followed his gaze up the cathdral's bell tower and into the skies above. "Today's not my time to go, Lamperouge. But when my time _does_ come, I can face it without regrets now. I did what I had to do to save the Worlds from darkness. If that turns out to be a crime and a punishment for my 'soul' in some other World, then that's the way it goes."

"Well spoken", the gypsy remarked, clearly impressed. "Then with the eyes of Notre Dame as my witness, I shall fear no karma either. We shall cast our fates to winds, and meet again when our time is done. Monsieur Sora, it has been an honor."

* * *

Esmerelda had stopped trying to fight the ropes; someone here obviously knew what they were doing. None of the usual tricks were working, and the new Captain of the Guard had made sure to remove any powder, any handkerchiefs, _anything _on her person that might have been a means of escape. Sounds of jeering and anguish wafted into her ears, and she knew that her executioner had come.

"Citizens of Paris!", Frollo called out to the crowd in a booming tone that she could hear from all the way over near the cathedral door, "We have come here today to punish the one responsible for the destruction of many homes and many lives. We are here to quash a threat that may be even greater than the gypsy Relena, and to demonstrate that we have learned the proper lesson from her evil; that none of her wicked people can be trusted. In keeping with the holy scriptures of Rheims however, I, Minister Claude Frollo, offer this sinner one final chance to repent her vile deeds, and embrace the infinite mercy of God."

He was very close. She could practically sense his breath on her neck, imagining it to be wet. "So here we are again, girl", he whispered, tenderly venomous words meant only for her. "Did I not say it would come to this? Now you stand upon the brink of the abyss... Yet, even now it is not too late. I can save you from the fires of this world, and the _next_."

Beneath the blindfold, her eyes stretched wide of their own accord, scarcely able to digest what she'd just heard. The offer of repentance to the condemned was a tradition older than Frollo, but the way he'd phrased it made it seem to be a different offer entirely. Could this possibly be...?

She wanted to laugh, but was too disgusted for anything more than a hiccup. _That_ was why he pursued her so eagerly all this time, burning and ransacking everything that could have ever shielded her from him and him from her. Love, as she had learned at a young age after her first fling, was just as strong a driving force as hatred. All this time, was it some kind of twisted affection that had started this madness? Love, instead of hate, which had nearly destroyed the most beautiful city in France?

Eyes shut, she shook it off. That was how Claude Frollo worked, seeking any possible way to deflect blame for his actions onto someone else, or some_thing _else. No matter whether he had done all this out of love or hate, the fact remained that they were _his_ actions, not hers.

"What will it be, gypsy? Choose me... Or the fire."

She waited, baiting him, letting him believe she was actually considering his offer, letting him draw closer and closer before hocking up the biggest glob of spit her parched throat could manage. She could not say where, but the furious grunt from Frollo told her she'd made contact. No words were required.

"So be it", he hissed in her ear. Then, to the crowd: "The gypsy Esmerelda has refused to recant. This evil witch has placed our entire city in grave jepoardy. And thus, by the power and authority granted to me, I cast thee from this world. May you burn in the next."

The smoke hit her nostrils for the first time, and she recoiled. Somewhere beneath the stake the fire was growing, burning, consuming all the piled wood and turning it into ash. With so much fuel, it would reach her within a few minutes, that is if the choking residue did not get her first; already she felt lightheaded.

_So. This is really it_. No one was coming to save her. Clopin, Delita, Ramza, Sora... _Quasimodo_. None of them could get to her, or perhaps none of them dared try. Why not? It wasn't _them_ feeling the roaring blaze inch up the pile to roast them alive. They could go on with their daily-

_Stop it. Just stop it right now. _She scolded away those sorrowful thoughts, for once feeling like the Minister, blaming everyone else around her for her misfortune just as old Clopin had always warned her not to in life. This bitter reaction to her final doom would _not _distance her from her friends. She knew full well that they all cared for her, would all have fought their way to the stake if they could have. Quasimodo and Clopin both loved her dearly. That was enough. She would not die with a heart full of anger and hate; that was one victory she could deny Frollo.

All at once, the full brunt of the fumes left her coughing, helpless in the blindfold and ropes. The fires had to have gotten close to the top of the pile, and any second now her clothes might also catch on fire, and after that her flesh. _Lady Relena... Will I see you again soon? Will we dine together again in the otherworld, whatever it may be?_ The gypsies' golden-haired former leader had always been very kind to her as a child growing up in the Court, willing to teach her as much of the gypsy arts as she was willing to learn even as she also instructed Clopin in the highest-level mysteries.

In truth, Lady Relena had held a powerful temper in life. A raging furnace of resentment towards the Order of Rheims that scared the teenaged Esmerelda whenever it rose to the surface, but then old Clopin seemed to be the exception to the rule. Anger was anger, and to deny it for long was never easy.

"NOOOOOOOO!"

Esmerelda perked her head up. The tortured shout had come from somewhere above her, loud but unrecognizable over the roaring sea of flames. No longer able to stand the stinging embers floating up to her face, she fought to avoid blacking out for a time she could not measure. Darkness descended. Then there was a sense of movement, the feeling of a warm breeze. Something held her.

Strange. Was this what it was like to burn to death? Either way, she was going to fall into complete unconsciousness long before her mind and body became void of sensation. The last thing she heard before all resistance failed her was the same voice again, booming much louder so that all could hear.

"SANCTUARY! SANCTUARY! SANCTUARY!"

* * *

For once, no one in the square could think of anything to say. The sight of Quasimodo swooping down upon the burning heap like an avenging angel had left even Claude Frollo speechless, and his captives in silent joy. It was not until the hunchback of Notre Dame had swung back up onto the lower-level walkway and declared his intent that the Minister regained his wits... And his wrath along with them.

"Captain", he spoke, feeling any misgivings about what must be done sliding away much like the chains that had again failed to hold his pet. "Sieze the cathedral."

Jaques du Salera did not protest or ask any questions, and so saved his own life. Without hesitation, he directed a third of his men to climbing the parapets as Sora had done, leaving the rest to watch over their captives. Meanwhile, Frollo directed the six drummers to pick up a stray beam from a burned house, and showed them where on the door they were to direct their combined strength, using it as a ram. The Notre Dame cathedral's great door had endured for decades, made of the finest oak and reinforced by ebony metal hinges and locks... But even it would not resist such hits for very long. The aging wood and steel bowed inward with every impact. _Only a matter of time._

Behind Frollo's spot as the overseer of this ramming, some screams erupted not from the citizens, but the soldiers. At once confused, he turned and nearly dropped his sword in shock.

Ramza of Beoluve stood atop a ramshackle house of wood and stone, his plain sword raised to the burning sky that made his blond mop seem as gold. "Citizens of Paris! Frollo has burned our homes! Ransacked _our_ city! Now, he has declared war on Notre Dame herself! Will we allow it?!"

A resounding NO! came from hundreds of throats, and suddenly the city guard was facing a two-front battle, with the peasants no longer containable by a simple cordon of rope and swords now brandishing rakes, garden hoes, small beams, candlesticks... Whatever could be considered a weapon when wielded with enough raw force. This early on it was impossible to tell who would win in the long-term, but Frollo was the only one in a position to see that merely leading a peasant rebellion was not the famous heretic's main plan; he sought to free Sora, Delita, and the other traitors while the guards were occupied. Left adrift in the chaos, Frollo would be unable to cut his way through and prevent such a move. Any command he gave would be drowned out by the spreading chaos.

More shrieks rang out from above. Even without their armor weighing them down, the soldiers were unused to climbing towers by hand, and the various measures the hunchback had taken to fight them off were not helping. Here, a statue was dislodged from its perch and knocked a man off the tower into gravity's embrace. There, a bread basket impacted another soldier in the face, and his falling body slamming into another one. The bread itself covered a fourth assailant in crumb form, attracting bothersome pigeons to provide a lethal distraction. The hunchback was defending his Sanctuary well, almost_ too_ well for all those attacks to be the work of a single individual. _Could it be...?_

No matter. Even with their best warriors free, the gypsies and vermin would be unable to prevent the door from breaking in time. With a start, Frollo realized that none of it mattered to him anymore. They could always find more loyal soldiers, siphon them off from the king's armies as needed. All that mattered now was that he correct his greatest mistake, and make penance for it. If the gypsy girl turned out to be alive against all odds, then it would simply be a case of two birds and one stone.

The drummer unit had taken casualties now, one of them knocked unconcious by a rock impacting his helmet and another drawn away by some kind of spell from Sora. With only four men, the beam was slow and cumbersome. Cursing his fortunes, Frollo beckoned them to join the main battle and finished caving in the sizeable breach they'd made in the cathedral door with his own blade and boots.

Inside, the Archdeacon stood before him in pious indignation, looking no different than he had the last two times his naivete had stood in Frollo's way. "Frollo!", he bellowed from atop the main staircase. "Have you gone mad?! I will not tolerate this assault on the house of God!"

The Minister only took a second to size up this new obstacle, in fact the only obstacle that had ever given him pause for long. The swarthy bishop looked so frail now, older than Frollo by far. Hiding in his sanctuary and protected from heretics by Frollo's work, he looked like a noble chewing out a servant for buying the wrong size of diamond tiara. He had been ossified in here, ignorant of the real world while Frollo had been forced to deal with the unwashed masses outside.

Such a pitiful fat man would not intimidate him out of serving justice a third time.

"Silence, you old fool!", Frollo snarled, tossing the man aside by the scruff of his faded robes and hurrying up the steps to lock the door behind him. "The hunchback and I have unfinished business to attend to. And this time, you shall NOT interfere."

One obstacle down, but another appeared once he'd gotten to the first main walkway of the cathedral. Running out of the stairwell, he stopped himself just in time to avoid running directly into the materializing Keyblade of Sora, who had been waiting for him among the gargoyle statues. "Quasimodo's busy right now", the spikey-haired boy informed him snarkily. "Come back tomorrow."

"Stay out of my way, _boy_", Frollo warned him, drawing his sword and calling a passel of Nobodies to his aid as easy as breathing. Up here, no one would recognize his 'special' servants. "A foreigner would not understand- I seek to rid our World of a great evil."

"Esmerelda is _not_ evil", the boy maintained adamantly, taking down the first Dusk in one overhand chop. "_You're_ the one who's been burning people's houses down and siccing Nobodies on them!"

"Necessary sacrifices", Frollo contended, lashing out at the boy's strange weapon with his own blade now while dancing Dusks tried to flank him. "And none of it would be if not for _her_."

Vaulting back from the multipronged assault and nearly falling, Sora shook his head in disappointment. "You _still _don't get it. You don't even know what Nobodies _are_, do you? All you care about is that they're powerful and they obey your commands. What would you say if I told you they're attracted to the anger and hate in your heart?"

"I'd say you've read one too many fairy tales, boy", he replied, beckoning a Sorcerer over to attack, at the same time making wide slashes at the lad's midsection- though he was not a soldier, he always kept in practice. "This is the_ real _world."

"The Nobodies are real", Sora countered him, kick-flipping over his attackers and around to the other side, bisecting the Sorcerer while he was at it. "The people you hurt are real. _Quasimodo _is real, a real human being!"

Frollo scoffed, and too late Sora realized that they'd switched places on the walkway. He could run now and get up to where the hunchback was still fighting to repel the soldiers. "No more a human than a mannequin, a wooden puppet", the Minister derided with conviction, turning to depart. "He owes his life to me; I _made_ him what he is. Now it is my duty to unmake him."

Sora sprinted to give chase, but more Nobodies rose up to block him near the doorway. They couldn't win. He knew all their tricks by now. But they _would _buy the Minister the precious time he needed to reach the top of the bell tower ahead of him. Scowling, he charged.

* * *

_No escape, as angels willed_

_The Hunchback of Notre Dame must be killed_

_* * *_

M: Well, I had my poor Lappy taken to a tech shop and everything seems slinky thus far; no sign of Mr. Antivir 2010 but I'm still spooked. With any luck I'll be able to finish the last few chapters soon, and yes, they do go past the official 'end' of the movie for a while. Hope you enjoy it, but let me know what you think.


	10. Dix

Disc: Kingdom Hearts, Phantom of the Opera, and Hunchback of Notre Dame aren't my property.

* * *

Dix

* * *

Pandemonium reigned in the square. The townsfolk who attacked were all men and women who had grown up in the city, who were only here now because they'd refused to leave despite the danger.

Now, they had at last been granted the opportunity to vent their enmity on the soldiers who had suppressed them for years and rampaged for days, all in the name of order and 'justice'. Ramza Belouve saw some soldiers hastily tearing their own armor off so as to blend in as he ran for the alley he'd directed Sora to when they first met, but inwardly he doubted the enraged peasants would care. It was a massacre, and he was the one who had started it. _Perhaps I've spent too long out of my own World, to have forgotten how destructive large-scale conflicts like this could be. _

A straggling soldier struck out at him with an axe, giving a battle cry that showed his eagerness to cut off the rebellion's proverbial 'head', and Ramza reminded himself that there had been no other alternatives. Esmerelda had been choking and dying within meters of the frightened crowd. She remained a symbol of hope, and it was only through Quasimodo's intervention that she'd been spared from a painful death.

At least, he hoped that was the case. It was true she'd passed out before he could rally the people.

All at once, experience and intuition came together and he came up short at a courtyard at the end of the alleyway. Signs of the warfare near the cathedral persisted, but it was an enclosed space with a good amount of room between houses to maneuver and little chance that anyone would stumble into the boxed-in area.

Delita Hyral stood before him, blocking the road with his sword at the ready. He'd disappeared shortly after the gypsies had freed him, only dispatching a handful of soldiers, but now he faced his old friend with none of the sympathetic guise he'd worn to the Court of Miracles. "Nice job", he complimented Ramza casually, as if discussing a pretty new coat. "Rabble-rousing really is your forte, you know. Even if that kid didn't show up, your rebels might have had a chance. I promise you they'll have their victory... And the destructive anarchy that will come afterwards."

"It was you", Ramza deduced emotionlessly, knowing that his old friend wouldn't have blocked this path without cause. "_You _gave Frollo the location of the Court of Miracles." He was keeping up this conversation to avoid the facts they both already knew. Even now, when nearly everyone else had realized the Minister's madness, Delita Hyral was still far too used to serving himself, regardless of how many causes or people he had to betray. On cue, they began to pace each other in a circle, step by step, both waiting for the other to make the first move.

"Not entirely correct", Delita replied smoothly. "We took out the ones who were following us. We just forgot to check who was following _them_. And anyway, it was Quasimodo who Frollo deceived into leading him there. I was just baggage."

He frowned. "So what now, then? You've changed sides again, just for the hell of it?"

His friend shrugged as if choosing what colour shirt to wear. "Let's just say I have a vested interest in keeping that old hypocrite alive a bit longer. If you climbed the bell tower after him now, I have no doubt you'd make short work of him, Ramza. So if you don't mind..."

Ramza glared back, for once committed to one final try at bringing his friend back to sanity. "Where's the sense in this, Delita?" he implored him, gesturing to the wreckage. "At this rate, Frollo and the church will have little power left to their name. Why do you still stand by him?"

Discreetly, he looked towards the alley, but no one else was within earshot. "Not by _him_. There's someone else who's going to give me the power to save all the other Worlds from our home's fate. I hope you're still around when that happens, Ramza. You and that Sora kid. You're a couple of real heroes, you know. Me, I prefer to stay in the background, making improvements that actually _last_."

"I guess that's it then", the other Ivalician conceded, finally abandoning all hope with his head hung low. "There's nothing left of you to bring back. Don't worry, my poor friend. You'll be with your sister soon."

Uncharacteristic for the youngest Beoluve, the verbal barb nonetheless cut through Delita's emotional armor and narrowed his eyes into a killer's death-white slits. There wasn't much left for them to talk about anyway. Without further preamble, their swords clashed and sparked against blazing orange skies.

* * *

Seeing the last of the climbing soldiers fall down into the swarming crowd, Quasimodo allowed himself a sigh of elation. He'd done it. No one could get through the rebels and up the tower now. It was over.

Grinning ear-to-ear, he sprinted from the parapets he and his friends had been defending and back to the room he'd secured Esmerelda in. The girl was on his bed, with white sheets raised to cover her torn clothing.

"We've done it, Esmerelda!" he shouted, at once being unable to recall feeling this excited since the Feast of Fools. "We've beaten them back! They'll never reach you up here and... Esmerelda?"

His elation shattered like glass, Quasi felt her neck. While it was true she'd fallen into unconsciousness back when he'd swung down to carry her off, she'd also had the unmistakable feel of a pulse beneath her inflamed brown skin.

Now, as he frantically waited for the surge of blood in her veins that indicated she yet breathed, there was nothing. She was motionless, with no breath issuing from mouth or nose. He'd been so busy seeing to the defenses that he hadn't been paying attention.

"Oh, no..."

He was not lucid enough to compare it to the feeling he'd had when he'd accidentally betrayed the Court of Miracles, but the ache was powerful enough to break him all the same, leaving him crying helplessly upon her breathless body. _I knew it. I __**knew**__ it would only get worse. Why did I do that? Why?!_

Either out of respect or the need to take care of another bunch of soldiers or Nobodies, his friends did not intrude on the deathly quiet that had settled over the room, only punctuated by his sobbing. There was, however, the sound of a new person breathing after a moment. Minister Frollo took in both his targets impassionately, affecting a persona of sympathy as he walked in on them, placing one hand on the hunchback's shoulder as gently as he could. "So, she is gone."

"You _killed _her."

"It was my duty to our people", Frollo said simply, stroking his creation's hair like a despondent dog. "Horrible as it was. I hope you can forgive me. Realize that she touched my heart just as she did yours. But she has brought this fate upon herself, perhaps too beautiful to exist in this ugly World of ours."

"She was the only one", the hunchback bit out between bouts of crying, no longer caring about anything Frollo did or said, no longer caring about anything but the pulse that was not there. "The _only_ one who ever understood me. I can't... Can't go on... Without her..."

"There there, my boy, I know it hurts". The Minister continued to keep his voice as comforting as he could make it, though it was starting to become apparent that it didn't matter what he said. Quasimodo was buried beneath the weight of his grief. He would not resist, would not even budge when Frollo plunged his sword into that grotesque hump of bone and flesh on his back. "But now, the time has come to put an end to your suffering. Forever."

This was not to be. His old pet, seeing the shadow of the upraised weapon on the candlelit wall, turned just in time to grasp it with one hand. Undeterred, Frollo forced it down further with all his strength, putting it within a finger's width of piercing the hunchback's frightened face before that face shifted into raw, animal anger at what his master had just tried to do.

With his full strength brought to bear, it was no contest. Frollo flew back against a wall, dropping the sword with a clatter. He looked up to see that abhorrent face advancing on him, twisted by rage for the first time he had ever seen. "Now... Now Quasimodo... L-listen to me..."

It was not only the look in Quasimodo's face that was new, but also an aggrieved rant that was enough to make Frollo forget all about retrieving his sword for the time being. "NO. YOU listen! All of my life you have told this World is a dark, cruel place! But now I see the only thing that is dark and cruel about it is _people like you_!"

For a moment, neither of them moved. Frollo had faced furious lectures from archdeacons and royals without cracking, but dealing with this tirade from the closest thing he would ever have to family stunned him for several precious moments. Only after the girl stirred from her cot, slowly rising from the sheets unaware of what was going on between them, did he remembered why he was there.

"Quasimodo?"

"Esmerelda?"

Fully recovered now, Frollo rolled and snatched up his blade. _She lives. Two birds, one stone. _There was no way the witch would be strong enough to resist. That she was up at all after inhaling so much smoke and ash was a 'miracle'. With the hunchback distracted, he could end her with a single strike. The retaliation would be worth it to finally see the end of the demoness that so haunted his dreams.

Except that the hunchback wasn't distracted, or least not enough. Shouting, he blocked the downswing with both arms and kicked his master back. By the time he stood again, the two had slipped out of the room and onto the parapets, with Quasimodo doubtless trying to avoid any fight that would put his seducer at risk.

He ran. Out here on the narrow ledges in the highest reaches of the bell tower, the hunchback's experience with them might have given him an advantage had he not been carrying a barely-conscious passenger on his shoulders, and the long battle had depleted his own strength as well. Frollo had been working hard too of course, but somehow he barely felt any signs of fatigue in his joints as he leapt down to his target's level with the agility of a much younger man.

In fact, rarely had his senses ever felt so unnaturally clear as they did now. Frollo could hear the roar of the fires below them, the crackled sizzling of a cauldron of oil and coal the hunchback had dumped on the soldiers earlier now flooding the area near the door, the shouts of war coming up from more than twenty vertical meters below them. He could clearly see the two gypsies huddled together on the ledges, moving as fast as Quasimodo could, yet not fast enough to get away.

Fools. "I should have known you'd give your life to save that gypsy witch", the Minister called to his long-lived mistake, no longer caring what he learned now that his fate was sealed. "Just as your own mother died, trying to save you. Now, I'm going to do what I should have done _twenty years ago_!"

It was his turn to be able to stun with mere words. Quasimodo did not react in time to prevent Frollo sweeping his coat over him like a tarp, the sudden deprivation of his senses causing him to fall from the ledge and take the girl down with him. A last-second twist dislodged the coat's owner as well however, and they both wound up clinging to the slick stone edges, both of them equally desperate not to fall.

_Come on. _Frollo recovered first, ignoring how his hat was swept from his head by the wind to leave his greyed hair flapping about his skull. By testing his position and lifting with his sword arm, he was able to get a better grip with his other hand, and carefully ascended up directly next to his prey. Now they were completely helpless. He knew what had to be done.

He raised his sword to deliver the final blow, feeling God's strength within him. " '_And ye shall smite the wicked and plunge them into the firey pit_!' "

A faint crack was his only warning before the entire world seemed to slide away; the pillar had broken. His sword fell, and only a last-second grab at a slender gargoyle statue stopped him from following it down into the abyss. Left with no choice in his precarious position, he stared up into the gargoyle's bared fangs and large eyes.

And then, against all reason, the demon roared into his face. Lost in memories of the fear that had caused him to spare a deformed child twenty years ago, Claude Frollo could only scream in terror as that statue broke off as well and began the voyage into burning oblivion.

* * *

Quasimodo saw Frollo fall away, too exhausted to even start to go over the mix of emotions the sight of it wrought in him. The important thing now, though, was to get Esmerelda to safety. Inch by careful inch he regained a firm grip, knowing just how dangerous these ledges could be even before he'd seen his master fall to his certain death.

He slowly vaulted back up onto a balcony with his precious cargo, preferring to ascend all the way to the very top of the bell tower once he'd regained enough strength- the siege had obviously damaged many of the fixtures and statues from the way the things kept breaking beneath people's weight. This wide open square of stone was the safest place for them to be.

Apparently, Sora felt the same way. Just when Quasi thought he'd overreached his climbing skills, a young hand stretched down to haul them up onto the rooftop. Even here the rising sparks and sense of intense heat were noticeable, but there were no threats here. Finally permitting himself to exhale, Quasimodo set the woman he loved down and relaxed.

"I'm sorry", Sora told him once they were safely away from the edge. "They just wouldn't let me through. By the time I got there, he was already about to finish you off."

"Don't apologize", he corrected the Keyblade-user gratefully. "That you came to help at all is the only thing I could ask of you. And now, he's gone... It's over."

Sora waited, not sure how he wanted to broach this topic after their previous arguments. "I know he was your master, Quasimodo. But he was also an evil-hearted man. He would never have stopped until he got Esmerelda. It was either her, or him. I think everyone here owes you a debt for ending his pyr... pyromane?"

"That's _pyromania_, philistine", another voice issued up from a nearby balcony. Ramza Beoluve now helped himself up onto the roof. Lacking the heavy armor he usually bore, he was now stripped down to his blue shirt and pants, visibly sweating from the effort it had taken to get up here. "But yes, that's all over with now. I've already dispatched people to get some barrels of river water ready. We should be able to douse all the fires today except the one your oil started, bell ringer."

"Oops", Quasi replied, only half-mocking, stretching the hard shackles he'd torn off the tower that were still attatched to his wrists, chains and all. "It was worth it. If I had to destroy this place, it would have been worth it. You were _right_, Sora. This tower is my sanctuary, yes, but for twenty years it was also my prison."

"Anytime", Sora winked at him cheerfully. "So you got up here too, Ramza? What about the Captain?"

The blond youth's face fell. "He... won't be joining us. Said he had business in another World. As you might have guessed, he and I are from the same land."

"Yeah, the noses were a bit of a giveaway", the Keyblade Master remarked in good spirits, finally able to lie down and rest beside his three allies. "Hopefully, he's not out to cause any more trouble. With Frollo gone, the Nobodies should depart soon. Off to another cruel-hearted master." He shook his head dismissively in a moment of reflective pity for the creatures he'd destroyed so many of. "They'll never learn that no one can make them complete again."

"We'll deal with them when we have to", Ramza offered him neutrally. "They can't go on forever, not without your Organization XIII around to breed them and the Heartless."

"I know", he said, flashing the Keyblade back into nonexistence, remembering all that he'd explained about the Organization. "And who knows? The Heartless devour every heart they see, but their opposites only do what they're told. They might just find someone out there who won't use them for evil acts." He shrugged uncertainly. "We can hope so anyway."

Feeling out of his depth now, Quasimodo rose off his knees to look after Esmerelda, for the girl was still badly in need of rest and water. Ramza stood as well but did not follow him over, instead humbly locking eyes with the spiky-haired Keyblade Master, placing one metal-gloved hand on his shoulder. "Sir Sora. We first met under adverse circumstances. I know that you still yearn for the comfort of your old friends, and that I can never be as close a companion to you as they are. With that in mind, I would like to travel with you in your journey to other Worlds... If you'll have me." Kneeling only enough so they were of the same height, he held out his blade handle-first before Sora.

He took that in, seeming to process the request before laughing out loud at the idea that would ever say no. "Of course! The more the merrier, Ramza!" Then remembering what had brought him here in the first place, he stared out across the desecrated cityscape before them. "We won't be leaving just yet, though. Farewells aside, there's something else I have to take care of."

"Understandable. It's much nicer rebuilding than to-", his voice trailed off and the dead serious expression of the professional warrior returned as quickly as his grip on his sword. Beside him, Sora summoned the Keyblade back to him in similar alarm. "You sense it too? It's like pure, concentrated hatred..."

Both of them wheeled around, quick to collect themselves before the pillar of black vapor suddenly spewing up in front of the rooftop got any bigger. "_Quasimodo_!", Sora yelled frantically. "Get Esmerelda out of here! Something's coming!"

* * *

Claude Frollo could not help but cry out as he fell. In all his life only a handful of things had ever scared him such, and this sensation of falling coupled with the sight of a Notre Dame gargoyle snarling at him was certainly one of those.

To begin with, it was completely impossible on a basic level. No matter how much his former pupil believed it so, stone sculptures did not talk or move, could not stretch their faces into anything uglier or more menacing than the way they had been built by the original stonemasons. But far worse_ that _was the sensation he felt in his heart as it dredged up how he'd come to fear such a sign.

_You can try to bury the truth with threats and money, Frollo_, the archdeacon's voice came back to him accusingly, still potent in its certainty as it had been twenty years ago. _You can deny every crime you have ever committed in the name of your prejudices. But you forget your beliefs. The __**eyes **__of Notre Dame are watching, Claude, brother of Jehan. And they see __**everything**__._

The possibility had terrified him then as it terrified him now. Now, when it seemed very likely that the time for his judgment had finally come. Even the slightest possibility that God would find his soul lacking was intolerable. So he screamed to the heated air rushing past him as he fell, desperate for any means of escape from eternal torment in the otherworld.

There was no sign, no wrath of ages or light from the sky. Instead it was a mortal man standing on a stone parapet who grabbed Frollo's sleeve as he fell, a strong arm holding him upright but far from secure. Breathless and tired, Frollo barely had the strength left to raise his hatless head out of the awkward position, turning his gaze from the sight of the statue being consumed the by burning oil below.

"_C-c-captain_?"

For indeed it was his former Captain of the Guard, Delita Hyral, who was his rescuer. The lad stared back at him with eyes out of place for his age, pulling Frollo up a bit further but refusing to bring him to a safe ledge. In his other hand, he held the strange-hilted sword he'd brought to Notre Dame.

He'd been wrong. He hadn't been saved from Death, only put on hold for a scant few seconds. The traitor was about to kill him.

_Would there be any way to convince him to spare me?_, he wondered yearningly. _Can I even sink that low?_

_Of course there would_, another voice answered him. _And after that, I can make him pay dearly for that indignity._

"P-please. Please, Captain. Mercy. I beg of you." He'd faced the ex-Captain with an expression of wide-eyed contrition; something few mortals ever witnessed from him. It would fit in better on the faces of the frightened farmers who's homes he'd burned for their insolence. Just as then, it had little to no effect, though the younger man remained silent and impassive for long enough to let him sigh in relief.

"Not tonight, Minister. Not tonight." Then, all in one motion, he drove the dark sword through the Minister's gut and out the other side. There was no blood, only a thick black smoke with no scent rising from the gore. "Blame yourself, or God", Hyral told him calmly as though that explained everything.

Then, taking Frollo out over the blazing pit, he released.

But it was not the end. Things were changing even as he fell the final distance, most notably the emotions that filled him, occupied his mind to the point where there was no room for any consideration of physical sensation. He could not feel the wind blowing past him, nor the fire as it rose up to destroy his body, nor even the shifting sensation that accompanied the rising black smoke.

There was only hatred, unfettered and raw. Everywhere, every person on Earth but him surrendered to vice, betrayed all his attempts to purge the infection, taunted him with success only for his fortune to change in the last second. Again and again they denied him, relying on the mercy of the church to shield them from reprisals. In return for his attempts to save them, they had cast him into the inferno out of slothful reluctance to change. For this, there was only hatred.

No more. They could all die; they would all _pay_ for killing him. Then the clergy would be purged of the weak-willed fools who refused to exercise their power to destroy all sinners, and the nobility would suffer a similar treatment. All the gypsies he loathed had to burn. All the sinners he hated had to _die_...

He did not acknowledge the lack of burning oil, the heat. Gravity didn't matter. Unconsciousness didn't matter. His own name didn't matter.

There was only hatred.

In the rising tide, he would find all the power he needed to rid all Worlds of avarice and corruption.

* * *

_Hounded out by everyone_

_Met with hatred everywhere_

_No kind word from anyone_

_No compassion anywhere_

_Why?_

* * *


	11. Ons

Disclaimer: As ever, Kingdom Hearts isn't my property.

* * *

Ons

* * *

Ramza and Sora felt the presence long before they saw it, and in many ways the waiting made it worse. The black pillar of fire soared and seared, expanding out into an unnatural blaze precluding its maker. On the other side, Quasimodo carefully deposited Esmerelda's body back in his bed before returning to the roof with all the speed his legs could muster, for not even he could ignore this, eyes wide with amazement and fear even as he joined ranks with his friends. "...Frollo?"

For indeed that was the closest resemblance. The floating figure still retained Claude Frollo's large nose, long face and upturned lip, but that was where the similarities ended. The creature that looked so much like the late Minister had been bleached of all colour, his closed eyes a matte black while his flesh was a universally pale death-white. Hair longer and more youthful than Frollo had seen in twenty years draped his shoulders in shimmering silver that would have been attractive under other circumstances.

The fact that he was floating also called further attention to his most noticeable change; magnificent robes in contrasting white and black patterns. Longer and more regal than anything worn in the church or royalty, the one-piece coat draped down for an entire meter past his waist, obscuring his legs... If he _had_ those at all.

"Not-Frollo", Sora corrected him, raising his weapon. "A Nobody, and a powerful one. It looks like his heart was consumed, and his will was strong enough to make one."

"How?", Ramza asked confusedly. "Quasimodo saw him fall; there's no way he could have lived through it, much less created this demon."

"Like it or not, he's back", the hunchback proclaimed, stretching both of his massive hay baler's arms. "But he won't hurt anyone else. I won't allow it."

'Not-Frollo' waited before them, floating aimlessly for several seconds before opening both eyes- white globes without pupils- and twisting its face into an expression of fury. Distorted as though underwater, the voice of its 'past life' was still recognizable: "_And ye shall ordeal to destroy all who stand against justice. Victory shall be yours... And ye shall be as Gods_."

That wasn't just an imposing taunt, the three of them realized too late. Sorcerer Nobodies were rising up beside Not-Frollo, each one with a white ring over its head that indicated invincibility even as they brought up their barriers to strike with. Wasting no more time, they attacked.

Not-Frollo was not anywhere near as large as many of the Heartless Sora remembered- Nobodies seemed to shy away from the 'bigger is better' approach- but still enough of a target to face strikes in three different places. Quasimodo, placing righteous anger into pummeling fists. Ramza, screaming a battle cry, striking methodically at the spots that would kill a human foe with one grisly strike. Sora, approaching with a practiced confidence and inflicting the most damage of all with the weapon both Nobodies and Heartless were right to fear.

The injuries were genuine, yet still Not-Frollo took several seconds to figure that these strange beings of flesh before him were not just going to sit back and die. When that deduction was made, it raised both hands, releasing a titanic blast of light that blew Quasimodo and Ramza clear even as it burned Sora's flesh like fire.

"The _Holy_spell", Ramza identified the blast once his comrade had recovered enough to be lucid. "It's not going to just sit still and let us kill it."

"True", Quasi acknowledged, placing his palm to a spot where a Sorcerer had blasted his tunic. "But we did the right thing in rushing him and not the others. Look." He pointed.

Sure enough, the strikes they'd made had taken their toll not only on Not-Frollo. Nearly all the Sorcerers had been affected as well, deprived of the magic rings that kept them alive. Encouraged, Sora raised his key to launch a massive chunk of solid ice, making Not-Frollo flinch and dropping the other minions too.

Acting as though nothing had happened, Not-Frollo raised his arms for another spell, and every injury they'd just given him sealed itself with a pearlescent glow. "Curaja", Ramza identified this spell as well, scowling. "Damn it. Suddenly this just got a lot more complicated."

"Not really", Sora countered smoothly, throwing the Keyblade into the light several times to distract the Nobody for another assault by his comrades. "It's still three against one. Take it from me; Cure spells aren't perfect. We just have to keep beating him down, and he'll eventually tire out." With that, he joined the fray himself, tearing into the creature's chest and releasing another Blizzaga in transit. Not-Frollo's counter of several speedy pillars of light was hard on the eyes, but Sora was more than familiar with such tactics by now and dodged each one flawlessly. To his right, Ramza shouted and slashed into the robes with his own blade, agile enough to keep up with Not-Frollo's evasive moves, yet heavy enough to do some damage even without his armor.

Then Not-Frollo did a peculiar thing. Floating away from his attackers, the Nobody raised one slender hand towards Ramza without any attack resulting; only a scant flash of the eyes indicating anything at all had transpired.

Ramza Beoluve shrieked, this time not the soul-chilling battle cries he had made his habit, but genuine pain as he fell back clutching at his head. Neither of the others believed it to be anything other than a normal attack until Sora, still settling to the ground from a lengthy aerial combination, had to dodge _Ramza's_ descending sword, and barely at that.

"Hey! What are you...?" He trailed off. The Beoluve seemed stretched between pain and madness, occasionally flinching but otherwise totally intent on slashing his former allies to pieces. "Destroy", he whispered feverishly, "Destroy the monsters, destroy the demons!"

Quasimodo still seemed confused, but Sora had seen enough to realize what was happening. "Stick with Not-Frollo!", he shouted over his shoulder at the hunchback. "He's controlling Ramza's mind somehow! I'll keep him off you!" _If I can_, a niggling doubt spoke to him as he turned the Keyblade against a friend for a second time. _I didn't think he'd have so many tricks. How can I snap Ramza out of this without hurting him?_

The screaming blond warrior did not seem interested in being 'snapped out of it'. He lunged again and again, giving Sora no time to even look over and see Quasimodo's punches missing nearly every time, or the deadly blasts of light Not-Frollo unleashed against him now. _I'm going to regret this later_, Sora told himself as he darted about, gathering mental energy for another spell. _But there's no other way. Now's not the time to fret about using too much magic, not with our lives at stake._

"_Stopga_!"

Just in time, his attacker froze in place, the plain sword inches from his neck. Not missing a beat, Sora snatched the sword up and ran for Not-Frollo with both weapons. The floating Nobody had managed to avoid most of Quasimodo's strong but sluggish attacks, but it could not evade a foe as nimble as the Keyblade master. Or perhaps Quasi was still unwilling to put all his strength into attacking something that looked so much like his guardian. Whatever the case, the mistake had been corrected; now Sora laid into Not-Frollo with all haste, recognizing the gathering white light spell the moment it formed.

"_Reflega!" _The round barrier looked like a collection of tiny mirrors from within it, but in reality it was far stronger, capable of deflecting the Holy spell back to sender even as it shattered, leaving Sora to follow up with swift Keyblade slashes. Fast and deadly, but predictable- Not-Frollo's arm finally caught him in the leg and blew him back to where Ramza had regained normal speed.

All at once, Ramza ran up too fast and kicked Sora down, taking his sword back to bring it to bear on the frightened Quasimodo. Not-Frollo raised his arms, again erasing all the damage in a flash. The one who had caused it gathered his mind again, and knew that he could not repeat what he had just done. They were stuck.

"_And ye shall smite the wicked", _Not-Frollo repeated to his unwilling servant, not revealing any relish in his face at the situation. "_And plunge them into the firey pit_!"

* * *

The lucavi were everywhere. No matter much the last Beoluve slashed and hacked at their grotesque forms and wicked faces, no visible culling of their numbers came about. He was all alone now, for once devoutly missing his new found comrades. He could hear their shrieks, cackles of unearthly delight at the chance to taste his flesh.

Seeing a particularly nimble one dodge back, he let out another battle cry, silencing them. Something about that primal release always helped him fight better, though whether it was a mental thing or if it simply stunned his opponents had never been made clear. This time, the demon was a notch too slow, and Ramza's sword left a messy gash across his leg. A larger, muscular demon with spiraling horns and long teeth charged him, foul breath on his neck, and he blocked with the pommel of the blade before kicking him away- he still had the spiky-haired one to deal with.

That demon attempted to vault back to his feet, only to meet Ramza's blade with his own weapon, some kind of twisted-looking sword not unlike the one Delita had carried.

Delita…

He paused for reasons that escaped him a second after, giving the spiky-haired lucavi time to rise and try to grab Ramza's sword from his hands. _I don't think so, demon._ He cut down sharply at the freak's talons and beat him back with rapid slashes across the mid-length. "Damned creatures. What does it take to drive you back?!"

One of the demons snarled something at him, but he paid it no heed. There was another lucavi coming to his attention now, a female one with shadowed eyes and attractive shape looking every bit like the comely succubus described in stories. It seemed disoriented, not trying to charm him into letting his guard down or even attacking him. Either he'd struck this one before and neglected to finish it off, or there were other heroes stuck fighting this horde of vile demons as well. He'd seen enough of demonic temptresses like Celia and Lede to know not to let this one recover, and ran over to finish the job.

All at once, the large spiral-horned demon was in his face, taking the blade in her place. The blade sank in with an unwholesome _squish_, and the brute finally fell to the ground, causing the succubus to shriek.

_Why? _It wasn't like demons had any affection for each other. They existed to corrupt and destroy mortals and nothing more. And yet… This one's cry was unmistakably one of despair. Enough musing. Kill them. Kill them and be done with it. "Back to the pits that spawned you, lucavi."

He raised his blade to strike, and so saved himself with only a glance at it.

There was blood on the blade. Red _human_ blood, not the black sludge he'd become accustomed to seeing from demons. Eyes wide, he stopped again, fully expecting the succubus or one of the other demons to take that moment of weakness to rend him with their claws, but no such blow fell. The succubus snarled something else in the demons' guttural tongue, but made no move to attack, simply cradling the brute in her spiked arms.

And all at once, the illusion began to break down around him. Looking around and seeing only one other demon remaining besides the two before him, Ramza lowered his blade, feeling aggression drain from his hand like so much soup. "I… This isn't…!"

The spiky-haired demon walked over to the brute's body with no sign of threat. Snarling, he raised one hand to emit a sparkle of light. The two seemed to trade conditions- even as the breaches in the big one's flesh restored themselves and he returned to a standing position, the spiky-haired one tumbled to the ground.

"Ramza?" the brute asked tenderly, still weak but for once recognizable, halfway between human and demon. "Are you sane again?"

"Who…? _Quasimodo_?!"

Before the three were even halfway reverted, their eyes still slitted and yellow and mouths still bristling with fangs, he could make out their true identities now. Esmerelda, Quasimodo, and Sora. The latter two were covered in blood and burn injuries, and Sora had clearly exhausted himself casting the healing spell which had restored Quasimodo to life. Ramza nearly joined him on the floor, knees threatening to give way entirely as he grasped what he'd almost done. Grasped what he'd been _doing._

_God forgive me, I've nearly killed three of my friends tonight. Or, might the previous reality be the true one all along?_

It didn't take a noble-level education to figure out who had gotten into his head and created that unbelievably realistic illusion of slavering demons. Screaming in vengeful anger, Ramza turned on the only possible guilty party, his outrage matched by Not-Frollo's own fury at having his control thrown off. "You tricked me once", the warrior's grated out while charging, his voice for once devoid of the compassion that everyone claimed slowed him down against most opponents, "never again. Now you die."

For all the dramatics, this didn't work out quite as he'd hoped. He got only two slashes in on the powerful Nobody before familiar pillars of light appeared to burn him, often too fast for anyone but Sora to avoid. A follow-up blast of light would have knocked him clean off the tower if Quasimodo hadn't jumped to full-body catch him. "We can't defeat him separately", the hunchback whispered in his ears tersely. "Our hearts have to be in alignment. It's the only way we'll be able to resist his illusions."

Seeing he'd lost him, the bell ringer raised one eye to Ramza's, the large misshapen one, to try and get his point across. "_Remember_us, master Beoluve. Or if not us, then those you are closest to."

Skeptical, but willing to try anything to avoid a repeat performance, Ramza knelt and concentrated, keeping one eye on the floating nightmare they still had to bring down. Contrary to belief, war had not yet robbed him of the ability to feel compassion for others. It was as much as surprise to him as anyone else that he could also feel it for his enemies. Even Frollo had been innocent once, before being consumed with darkness just as any human could, Delita being the prime example in his life.

_Delita… Alma… Zalbag… and even Dycendarg. Wherever you all are, I hope you are safe._

Staunch and calm, he charged with Quasimodo, taking the Nobody across the hem of its robes where its knees should have been. More rays of light slammed home, but he and the hunchback soaked them up with a grim tolerance.

Angered further still, Not-Frollo turned its attention back to Quasimodo, gesturing in the same way it had before. Mayhap it had only been his imagination, but then he'd witnessed stranger things; Ramza swore he could actually see traces of the illusion being forced into the hunchback's mind, intended to turn him against his comrades just as it had Ramza.

He was surrounded by everyone he knew, each one not distorted into an evil-looking demon this time, but instead enhanced into more handsome and luridly beautiful versions of themselves. All of them laughed mockingly, deriding Quasi as little more than an animal; the torture of the Feast of Fools cranked up to eleven, made all the worse because Sora, Esmerelda, and he himself were among those pointing and laughing. As if he could ever be the same as them. As if Esmerelda could ever love such a pathetic, malformed wretch. He could never belong. He was a monster, meant to be sealed away forever. Just like the _Tonnsectere_.

Not this time. Even with eyes closed and head aching like he'd gone on a drinking binge, the hunchback ultimately shook the illusion off, clearing his head of his waking nightmares. Five seconds after, he buried fists in white robes anew, striking his tormentor in the head. Following his lead, Ramza reopened the Keyblade wounds Not-Frollo's cure spells had fixed.

Incensed further still, the Nobody unleashed another wave of burning light to blast both men away to the edge of the rooftop. He'd raised his hands to follow up with another healing spell when a Keyblade came flying into his face. Disappearing, it returned to the outstretched hand of its sender, still battered and weary but grinning at the successful surprise attack.

"Sora!" Ramza couldn't help but cry out in shocked relief. "I thought you were finished!"

"For a while", the youth replied cheekily. "Then Roxas woke me up. Besides, we're not done yet."

Never mind who 'Roxas' was. Now their foe was gesturing, attempting to seize control over the one who had been doing him the most harm.

Unfamiliar with the spiky-haired boy's career, Ramza could not say for sure what the illusion was this time, only that it was compelling enough to paralyze the Keyblade Master with indecision for ten whole seconds before he opened his blue eyes again... And _laughed. _"Nice try. Maybe in a hundred years of that you could convince me to attack my friends. But I wouldn't count on it. It's over. You're going down."

Following the boy's lead, the other two stood and faced Not-Frollo as a single entity. Sora threw off the false hatreds and enmities it tried to poison their teamwork with. Quasimodo kept on their minds their purpose here on this ruined bell tower, of the great destructive potential of their foe if ever he escaped. Ramza brought forth his knowledge of charm magicks and how their various forms could be used to turn allies upon each other in battle.

Perhaps they imagined the brief look of fear flitting across the face of the thing that had once been a man. Perhaps not. They certainly did not imagine the titanic sphere of light it desperately brought up to separate them, striking Ramza with the brunt of it so he was finally unable to rise up, only able to watch as it faced down his two comrades. His chest and head burned numbly, but he did not turn his gaze for a second.

"This is going to be close." Sora admitted grimly upon seeing some of the larger injuries on Not-Frollo diminish, but not disappear. He was, as ever, a fountain of optimism, but even he sounded as though he was about to collapse from exhaustion now. "One more good blow might do it, but I noticed he's too quick for you."

"Yes", the hunchback replied lamely. "I'm sorry, but I'm just not as fast as you two, and he keeps flying around. Maybe I should just try to block him for you. I can take it."

Idly dodging several light pillars- this time without getting hit once- he shook his head. "I have a better idea. Can you give me a ride?"

Quasi's thick brow rose, but he did not hesitate long. "O-of course. What are you going to do, Sora?"

Noticing Ramza's pained stare, Sora smiled. Not the innocent smile of the carefree child who had played in the sands with Riku and Kairi way back when, but the unstoppable warrior who had saved the Worlds from darkness twice over. "Teach him a lesson about teamwork. Just hold on tight, okay?"

Taking advantage of a break in attacks, he climbed atop the hunchback's wide frame, and raised the Keyblade to the burning skies. "Now! Let's fly together! _**Bellringer**__!"_

Of all the many impossible sights Ramza had seen in Notre Dame, this one might have been the most incredible. With a brief flicker of light the two rose into the air, a pastiche of Keyblade, wielder, and muscled hunchback on the bottom. Floating up to Not-Frollo's level suspended on the blade, they began to swing.

Quasimodo did not catch on immediately, but when he did his fists laid into what remained of his old master with renewed energy. Back and forth and back and forth they swung, a gigantic chime that brought a mighty blow with every ring. The slow but powerful strikes of the hunchback hit home every time, even stronger than the Keyblade Master's, dodging increasingly feeble counterattacks with the best of Sora's agility.

"And ye... Shall be... As Gods..."

Finally, Not-Frollo had had enough. No longer able to heal itself, control one of them, or do anything else to stop the nonstop barrage, it faltered. A final ring knocked it back towards a tower edge, and a finishing slash from Sora across the top portion knocked it clean off the roof, exploding even as it fell. Ramza could even feel a brief surge and extinguishment of darkness as it died. Across the way, the two warriors slumped to the ground, breathing heavily.

Ten seconds after, Sora stood. "Phew… One more time, then. _Curaga!" _

Rising up with half-closed injuries, Ramza beheld the younger man with a new-found respect. He'd seen stronger attacks, but not many, and certainly none that made enough of an impact to sound like a heavy bell chime with every strike, or involved two people working in tandem. _Truly, this boy has a remarkable talent for synchronizing with his allies, not to mention a talent for making said allies in the first place._

"Here", Esmerelda called to them, rushing over, ironically having regained enough strength to be in the best shape among them. "Let me see. I might be able to do something about those."

"It's fine", Ramza insisted, brushing her off and ignoring the pain. "Sora needs it worse than I do. Without his healing magicks we would have died for certain. Sir Sora, I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am for letting him control me that way."

"It's fine", the younger man repeated back to him. "If it makes you feel any better, he almost did that to me too."

Helping the hunchback to his feet, the Beoluve scoffed, recognizing a well-meaning lie. "But _you_didn't go around attacking us. I almost slew the lady Esmerelda. I nearly cut our friend Quasimodo in half. I am… _dishonoured_."

Sora blinked, not sure what to make of that. Ramza was again reminded that he came from a world where things like 'honour' and matters of the soul were not mentioned much. "Perhaps I should be apologizing to the lady, instead."

"Think nothing of it", the woman he'd been tricked into believing was a succubus replied curtly, sounding better all the time but still refusing to look directly at Ramza. "I saw what he was doing to each of you. Old trick. Something the original was very good at."

Ramza coughed, realizing what she meant. He'd certainly born witness to many people in his World who had the vocal eloquence needed to trick other people into fighting each other, even if none could do so as forcefully. "All the same, you have my eternal contrition, milady."

Chuckling at his fancy, she winked at him before trying to restore Sora to walking condition. None of them were willing to elaborate on why they were refusing to look him in the eye, so preoccupied with recovering from the battle and returning to the city square that a less observant or self-aware warrior would not have noticed.

Ramza Beoluve did, though. He could not help it. There was one injury no spell would remove; something had happened on this day to drive an invisible wedge between himself and his comrades, and only heaven knew when it would go away.

* * *

To Sora, the rest of that day seemed to blow by in no time.

Kept in makeshift cots fashioned in the square to treat the injured from the battle, he drifted in and out of sleep in the campsite, each time presented with news from Clopin or Esmerelda or someone else of how things were progressing. A large-scale reconstruction was already in the offering, with a number of carpenters and stonemasons summoned by the request of _ex_-Captain Jacques du Salera. More importantly, letters had been dispatched to the king of France informing him of the current situation, and thus the word would spread, inviting those who had fled Notre Dame back to their rightful home.

He'd initially had trouble adapting to this sedate, unstructured lifestyle, and then come to wonder why that was. It wasn't as though Destiny Islands had been a bastion of discipline, he mused, remembering a time when Tidus and Wakka had set off fireworks in one of the shops. Only the adults and Riku had said anything at all about it, yet now _he_ felt like the one who should have addressed it.

"It has been a long two years of fighting demonic creatures", Ramza Beoluve consoled him when asked about it, only now recovered enough to walk normally again. "Even if you've never once killed a human, or anything other than Nobodies or Heartless, the way of the battlefield has already made its effects known upon you. Your body rebels against lying still when there are people in need of your help, regardless of how exhausted you are both physically and mentally. I have felt it, too. We're just made that way."

Rejecting the notion at first, he shook his head, still not looking directly at him out of unconscious habit. "I never wanted this", he protested faintly. "When I got back home with Riku, I never wanted to go out again and destroy more Heartless. Believe me, I'd had enough of _that_."

"Not until your home faced a new threat?" the youngest Beoluve reasoned simply, palming his sword against his mail glove. "Can you honestly say you did not feel even the slightest bit of satisfaction at being able to use the Keyblade to help people once again? That weapon was not meant to remain there in peace forever, I am sure."

He sighed, swinging idly in the cot as a horse and wagon with relief supplies came by. Ramza always made things so complicated whenever they talked. It was frustrating sometimes. "I don't know what 'satisfacting' means, but even if I didn't need it to travel between Worlds now, I can't just pass it on", he explained helplessly. "It never leaves me, just disappears whenever I don't need it. Here, try holding it."

Sheathing his own weapon, Ramza took the large key with predictable results, having it vanish and reappear in Sora's hand a moment later. "I see what you mean", the blond boy said. "I've never seen a weapon like that before. You have no clue as to who or what created it?"

"None. It just came to me when I first met the Heartless, and I went on from there. No, wait…" his eyes narrowed, flashing back to a particularly bad memory. "There was just one time when it left me, and went to Riku for a while. I'm not sure why, but back then it looked like _he _was the real Keyblade Master."

Understanding there was no way they would figure out the Keyblade's many mysteries with such little information, Ramza took a moment to help an injured peasant before returning to Sora's tent. "I denied it too, when I first realized it, sir Sora. But I could not deny my aptitude for battle, nor the fact that going long periods without a foe to face made me itch. You and I, we are the same. Brilliant young swordsmen who don't actually like to fight, yet we've both seen enough bloodshed to feel like a part of us is missing without it."

The Keyblade Master waited, not sure what to say to that. One of those rare moments when he stopped to look back on what he'd done in the past, and _marveled_. For all the power of the Keyblade helping him, it was _he _who had truly defeated both Nobodies and Heartless that no one else could, creatures of unfathomable power, not to mention a host of villains with hearts blackened with malice enough to direct them. Shan Yu, Hook, Jafar, Barbossa… _Xehanort_. _Twice_. And now Claude Frollo could be added to that formidable list, all without including the ones who weren't human.

Not that he'd regretted defeating those ones any less. They'd made their choices in full knowledge of the evil they directed, allowing the darkness in their own hearts to dominate them. But to the unfamiliar, his own skills and powers might seem just as monstrous. He could even feel Ramza's fear of his power; faint, but there.

Ramza was leaving, but now Sora clasped his hands on his gloved arm. "I meant what I said before. I use the Keyblade to help people. Nothing else. And if you're itching for another fight that bad, then just wait a few more days."

"_La Tonnsectere_", Ramza guessed, chuckling dryly as he strode from the tent. "Clopin told me. Till then, my friend."

And so at last, Sora slept.

* * *

_My Sanctuary_

_Yeah..._

* * *

M: My virus problems aside, such a long fight scene took forever to write. Hopefully it was worth it. I have some other issues to deal with right now, but should update again within the next two weeks. Please review.


	12. Deuce

Disc: Months have gone by and I still don't own Kingdom Hearts or Final Fantasy. Oh, and there's a kiss in this chapter. Just a heads up.

* * *

_Deuce_

* * *

Esmerelda saw the hunchback coming from the tower balconies, enthusiastic but still careful to keep pressure off his left leg. His state was a perfect reflection of the city- grievously injured, but getting better all the time with each day that passed in healing and peace. Everywhere there lay signs of rebuilding in the square, and no matter who or what they'd lost the townsfolk put on brave smiles for the young woman as she walked past the fallen doors of the cathedral.

"I'd heard he was up today", Quasimodo spoke as he jumped down to the bottom floor, no longer careful to avoid prying eyes. Whatever prejudices might have remained towards the unexpected hero were being deflected into the effort of rebuilding a city for the moment, and personally Esmerelda felt that a good majority of them had seen enough by now to know the hunchback meant them no harm.

They would see in time, but for now everything seemed on a gradual rise from a very dark place, not merely the city's condition. She smiled back, knowing perfectly well how he'd fallen for her now. "Well, he challenged Clopin today. I don't think he'd do that if he wasn't at least able to walk, do you?"

"He just might. He's _amazing_", Quasi remarked out of the blue, searching the square in vain to find their mutual acquaintance. "Not-Frollo must have blasted him fifty times and he kept on coming."

Esmeralda was fairly sure it had not been quite that many, but it was true that the Keyblade Master's skills were a league apart from anything the city had seen. _Of course, even that might not help him here_, she considered as they stepped into the gathering crowd apart from the tent cluster. There, Clopin was entertaining onlookers with a sequence of rubber balls that seemed to fly from his sleeves and leg trousers just as fast as he caught them the same way. Just to make it even trickier, he made a frantic-seeming 'river dance' while this was going on, prompting a few of the younger townsfolk to join in sans the sleeve-juggling.

Only upon seeing Esmerelda's face did he stop, catching all the midair balls before causing over a dozen of them to explode out of his chapeau. A practiced eye like hers could make out the sleight-of-hand and tricks her mentor performed as easily as breathing, but to the casual observer it would seem like impossible magicks, for the cap was far too small to have contained so many. Relena had taught him well. "We're very pleased to see all in such a bouncy mood today!" he announced to the crowd over a few groans. "Clopin is certain you're all sick of rebuilding things, so why not a little sideshow to spice things up?"

Always a born showman, the gypsy produced a small box from his pocket, letting everyone take a good look before he stretched it wide, pulling at both ends in mock-strain until it was as tall as he was, and then doing the same thing to increase its width. It was easier now to make out the question mark adorning all sides of the mysterious box, which Clopin now paced to build suspense.

"But mister Clopin!" he now protested to himself in the high-pitched child's trill he used for his hand puppets. "This show is booooring! I wanna see what's beyond the Grand Gate! I wanna-wanna-wanna!"

To Esmerelda's disbelief, she noticed now that Clopin had replaced his usual green sock with a pink one decorated with brown straw and blue-button eyes to vaguely resemble Sora, complete with a normal-sized house key glued to it. Heedless of how many people recognized that, he continued onward, lecturing in a tone of concern. "Oh non-non-non, you silly child. Past the Grand Gate lies a dangerous beast that _eats_ curious little boys!"

"I'm not scared!" the puppet-voice answered. "I'm a strong warrior; I can beat the beast with my giant key!"

"Ooh non-non, you must not go."

"Oui oui oui, he's meant for me!"

Smirking, he made an aside glance at the audience. "Ah, _youth_. Tell you what, monsieur Sora, if you can prove yourself stronger and more skilled than old Clopin here, you can pass the Grand Gate."

"Oh-kay!"

Without any further delay, the sock puppet lunged, crashing into Clopin's slender face and knocking him flat on the cobblestones, looking basely surprised as if he hadn't just punched himself. "Zut! Arret! Do over! I wasn't ready!"

With that, he threw the Sora puppet into the crowd for someone to catch, and strode over to box to get the real show underway, tapping it gently several times with one gloved index finger. The four sides to slapped to the ground, and revealed the genuine article taking a showman's bow together with the gypsy leader and inciting a new round of applause. Many of those present were already familiar with Clopin's shows, but he rarely ever did them with a partner, much less one so inexperienced. Even Esmerelda was going back through her memory of all the various tricks her mentor had shown her over the years, trying to figure just what combination he could have used to fit Sora inside that tiny little box.

While the two of them were still all smiles, they still parted with the caution of foes, one conjuring his Keyblade, the other a pair of short knives from nowhere.

"To keep this fair", Clopin spoke to his dueling opponent, "let us say the first to deliver three blows wins. I trust you'll be a gentleman, monsieur Sora, and strike with the flat end this time."

"I don't know…" Sora replied in fake doubt as he sized up his opponent. "I hit you pretty hard the first time, you sure you don't want to take a rest first?"

"Bah! I shall defeat both you and your two identical twins!" the gypsy boasted playfully. "En garde!"

Spending no further time with banter, both lunged… And passed by the other completely, winding up on opposite sides. "Let us try that again", Clopin suggested sheepishly.

"You can say that again", Sora called, scratching his hair, unsure if that had been done on purpose. Clopin repeated himself. While it would be hypocritical to ask the gypsy leader to not hold back, at heart it seemed he considered putting on a good show to be more paramount than truly testing the Keyblade Master. Putting aside his natural reluctance to attack a friend, he leapt at the jester with a strong vertical chop. Without bothering to engage the stronger blade, Clopin slid around behind Sora, bringing both daggers down only to be blocked above. Bending his knees with the pressure of landing, his opponent pushed off, knocking aside the daggers and spinning around to strike the man's chest with the flat side of the key.

Again unable to reliably deflect it, Clopin simply backed off with a speed that momentarily threw Sora, crossing out of the Keyblade's arc. Instead he drew it back across while charging, multiple advancing hay maker slashes that drove Clopin back towards the edge of the crowd. Without missing a beat, the jester vault backward onto a sudden footstep, the palms of two onlookers joined into one, using that to leap far higher than his opponent. _Nimble little guy,_ Sora noted in partial amazement,_ and he's got the crowd on his side. All the same...!_

He would not have let a real enemy escape with such a simple trick. Pitching his sword arm back, he hurled the Keyblade into the morning sun, and by association the leaping gypsy. The circle of light, key and clown became one for a brief moment, lost in a glare no squint could penetrate. Then there was only the sun left. Feeling the Keyblade rematerialize in his hand and a premonition in his heart, Sora ducked and rolled... a split second too late. He immediately felt cold steel raked across his back, and a grip of iron halting his forward momentum from behind.

"You know how it would go from here, _monsieur _Sora", he heard Clopin whispering into his ear with practiced ease, but with no pride in what he'd done. "A swift strike to the spine from behind, a gouge, a kidney shot, then evisceration... ah. Sorry. Wrong World. One down, then." With those threatening words he released the challenger from his grip, withdrawing to a safe distance and letting Sora get his breath back, suddenly immensely grateful that they were only playing.

Sora glanced around. Like he'd figured, many of the audience were cheering on the more familiar side, perhaps a bit too overeager to see the strange foreign boy humiliated further. Blocking out the jeers, Sora sized up his target, old combat senses that had been dulled by days of rest returning to life. _He has to have some kind of duplication magic. Like Xemnas. Beyond that he has to stick to hitting and running, because the Keyblade is way stronger than his daggers. Stronger, and slower too. Have to find some way to get him to sit still..._

"Alright", he breathed out. "Let's try this." Switching stances, he performed another one-handed charge, prompting the masked man to dance around to one side near where Quasimodo had been standing. Waiting until they were a mere eight feet apart, Sora ducked and rolled; the perfect invitation for his target to try another fast strike. Clopin did not come at him as quickly as he would have liked, but once they'd closed to within four feet it made no difference.

_"Magnega!"_

The gypsy leader recognized the spell but was too late to stop himself from getting caught in it. Suspended above the ground for all to see, it was child's play to tap him lightly with the Keyblade and let him crash to the ground on his butt once the magnetic force subsided. More than his first hit, he'd earned encouraging cheering from several spots, including Esmerelda, mounted on Quasi's shoulders now so she could see. "Nice one, Sora! Two more to go!"

Spurred on, he flashed a quick thumbs up. "Thanks. Well? Are you ready?"

This last bit he addressed to Clopin, who was slowly rising to his feet after his tumble. Far from annoyed, the man simply sprung back up and grinned. "Oui oui, a round of applause is due to our special guest, who could blend might and magic to free Notre Dame." Around the circle, Sora could make out the sound of coins changing hands and knew that wagers were quickly being placed on both combatnants. To their left, he saw Ramza wading into the crowd, his inner combat-veteran finally drawn. Before him, Clopin was regaining balance. Whatever idea Sora might have had that he had been demoralized by his use of that powerful spell vanished as fast as the clown's over-the-top graciousness. Both lunged.

* * *

For all others whom had slowly drifted towards the duel-slash-magic show happening in the square, the old man who arrived after the first two hits stood out. While no more the street beggar than many other passerby, the man made it clear in his stance he was more than a little drunk. Fat and jolly as Father Christmas, he dominated the bettors in the side of the crowd he was on, exchanging coins and credit parchment with impressive frequency when he was not trying to sidle up a bit closer to Esmerelda's chest. After one withering glare and a realization of how strong the hunchback was, he withdrew to a safe distance, and simply watched the duel continue.

Neither had landed a second hit yet; only some extremely close calls. The magician Clopin had learned his lesson not to be too caught up in following his dance partner, and Sora had come to recognize the fact that his opponent possessed either magic of a kind he'd never seen, or some fancy sleight-of-hand and dexterity that allowed him to stand on par with the Keyblade Master or the woman who had trained him. Twice he'd passed up an opportunity to strike Clopin he deemed too easy to be real, and twice the image of the deranged gypsy had turned into a cloud of flash powder seconds afterwards.

Finally, he'd had enough of the game of follow-and-wait. The crowd was getting antsy. They wanted to see something new. Landing from a jump and pivoting, Sora aimed the Keyblade and focused his will into a shocking chill as Merlin had shown him so long ago. "_Blizzaga!"_

At once Clopin's eye brows arched in casual dismissal- he'd seen the boy use that admittedly powerful ice spell before, but it was so painfully slow even hulking Quasimodo could dodge it with a little luck. Vaulting high, he drew both knives with feet spread wide to brace himself... And once again found himself lying down on the street with a sore behind, slipping on the sheet of ice the low-aimed spell had created on the ground. Without hesitation, Sora tapped him again with the Keyblade's flat end, and the crowd erupted.

"_Tres bien_", Clopin admitted before rolling away from the ice sheet and springing back to his feet, dropping several of his plush balls out of his sleeves by accident or design. "Even a gypsy can learn a new trick or two from you, monsieur Sora."

"I thought so", Sora replied merrily once he'd finished a stage bow to the fat man's side. "I knew you're too fast to get hit by that normally, and even Thunder wasn't guaranteed with how you move. So I improvi- What the...!"

He held up the Keyblade in shock, for it wasn't much of a Keyblade anymore. Touching the mighty weapon to Clopin's tunic had somehow allowed him to transform it into a weapon Sora had believed he would never see again- a wooden cross, a play-sword of the kind all the boys of the Destiny Islands had once revelled in mastering, imagining themselves all sorts of adventurers. He simply hadn't noticed the switch until then, but now he grimaced at the memories associated with that crude implement. "Very funny."

"I thought so", Clopin shot back in equal humour. There was nothing humorous however, about the way a pair of mighty shackles suddenly poofed into existence over the Keyblade master's feet, triggered by a snap of the fingers from Clopin. Immobilized, he could only watch and defend as the clown attacked with both his daggers. Gone was the merry dancing he'd put on at the start of the show, and in its place were quick, blurry lunges he couldn't help but recognize from Larxene. Like her, the clown did not appear to be taking steps, simply _flying_ at an opponent with weapons ready.

All the same, the substance and length of his own weapon did not suddenly remove his two years of experience guarding against attacks from Heartless and more. Twenty times Clopin rushed the boy from every possible angle and twenty times the sound of wooden sword deflecting steel rang out. Clopin did not falter or stop the attacks, yet his voice remained clear and legible to everyone: "And yet, on the other hand... I have four fingers."

Sora cut his laugh short, but it was enough to make him flinch, enough for the gypsy leader to catch his wooden sword beneath the hilt and send it flying, and tap his throat with the flat end of the other dagger. "Deux."

Annoyed more with himself than Clopin, the boy scowled nonetheless. "H-hey, that wasn't fair! You can't tell jokes during a fight!"

The clown shrugged nonchalantly, walking over to fetch the wooden sword for Sora. "It is not Clopin's fault none of your enemies ever attempted such before, more's the pity." Returning the weapon, he locked eyes with its owner, still not releasing the shackles which held his legs. "But... Since this is _your_ show, monsieur, Clopin will play along, boring as it may be."

Regaining his composure, Sora looked down. With all the efforts he'd made the chains had loosened, but to unlock them would take full concentration- something he could not afford, not with Clopin making ready from another lunge. The cheers and jeers of excited peasants rang in his ears, and closed both eyes to block out their faces along with other distractions. _Fine. He wants to fight dirty? I'll show him dirty._

Blind but not beaten, he raised one leg with all strength, not breaking the shackle but kicking Clopin in the knees as he rushed in. Following up with the other leg convinced the gypsy to back off and take a different angle. From directly behind it would be impossible for the Keyblade master ot crane his neck around to see his opponent strike, but it did nothing to stop the sounds of jhodpured feet striking stone like gunfire, and now Clopin's daggers descended on the intervening shackles too late to stop in the middle of Sora's jump. "Knock knock, Clopin."

"Oui? Who is there?"

Pausing to consider, he opened both eyes and simply guarded against any follow-up strikes as he spoke. "Tank."

"Tank who?"

"You're welcome."

The clown did indeed flinch as hoped, but not enough to guarantee sucess. _Have to make this clean._ Four more deflected strikes later, Sora tried again: "What's the only thing in the World you can give and still keep?"

Dancing on air without caring so much for evasion now, Clopin struck again and again at the same time he answered. "Your word."

Backpedaling from another strike, he saw both daggers gleaming in the sunlight above, rolled to avoid the pounce. "I was thinking your Heart. A man walks into a bar. And says 'ouch'."

He'd done it. Clopin did not merely flinch, but fell over holding his side from laughter. Seeing this, however, was not his cue to rap the wooden sword against the man's chest. Instead of going for the obvious move, he reached up and pulled the gypsy's jaunty cap loose.

The crowd gasped. Again defying physics, Clopin's little blue cap contained the familiar metal bar of the Keyblade balanced atop his head like a water cistern. "Now", the gypsy leader commented once he'd recovered from the joke. "How did _that _get there, I wonder?"

As Sora had come to expect by now, the crowd erupted into cheering applause while they both bowed to signify the end of the 'show'. Bent over like this, he could still hear the clown's whisper: "_Bravo_,monsieur Sora."

Yet as the two opened their eyes as one, it was Sora who fell over at the sight before him. "Frollo?", he shouted in shock from the cobblestones. "How? I thought-"

No. It wasn't Frollo, just a near twin. Frollo was not nearly so fat, and looked a few years older than this man who now bent over to help him up. "_Bienvenue_, both of you", the man noted in an earthy rich tone. "Somehow I don't feel bad about losing money on a fight like that, though I'm sure my landlady'll feel differently. Don't suppose you could compensate an old fool, boy?"

Unsure of what to say to that, he was relived when Clopin pushed him aside to clap one arm around the man's shoulder and drop a few coins into his pocket discreetly enough that only Sora could see. "Ahh, brother Jehan. Clopin knew you'd come after the battle, though of course not too late to take bets on it. After costing you twice it's the least we can do."

Looking around, the Keyblade master saw Quasimodo looking equally stumped and was glad he wasn't the only one. "_That's_ brother Jehan?", he prodded. "The guy everyone always teased Frollo about?"

"Oui", Clopin nodded. "As much his brother as a cracked mirror suspended on vices, but then a cracked mirror gives us no information, non?"

On cue, their new guest let out a tremendous belch that caused several onlookers to depart. "I am sorry I wasn't able to come sooner. Cursed bandits are making everyone nervous of hitchikers so I had to walk most of the way."

"Just as well you did not, brother", the gypsy leader sighed, glancing up at the still-visible damage to the bell tower. "For the past few days, Clopin was not alone in madness. Were it not for the monsieurs Sora, Ramza, and Quasimodo, we might have all gotten a head in weight loss."

"Truly?", the man glanced back, noticing Ramza and the hunchback for the first time. "And my brother?"

"Dead", Ramza provided, knowing how the gypsy would mince words. "Gone. Though I cannot demand my reward for it, since it was not I who dealt the final blow."

Jehan stumbled, a deliberate move no one familiar with him would be surprised by which hid his face from the rest for a few seconds. Recovered just as fast, he crossed himself. "There's no need for modesty, my boy. I knew dear Claude better than any living soul. For him, discipline was the only way of life. Always knew he'd someday get himself in too deep, and disregard the eyes of Notre Dame."

"I speak no modesty sir- Sora here finished him off, and good riddance."

At once tired of this game of manners, a still-adrenalized Sora raised his head, trying not to look directly back at Jehan. "Um, Clopin? The Grand gate? You remember the gate?"

Clopin smirked at his eagerness. "In time, monsieur. La Tonnsectere is not going anywhere just yet. Clopin asks that you wait one night. Tomorrow, after the festival of lights, we shall see what awaits in the dark below."

Jehan blinked. "_Desole_. Must have slipped my mind, but I'll be back in time to pick up a few ladies at least."

One day. Certainly Riku, Kairi and the others could wait one more day, couldn't they? The truth was he had no idea where they were, or if they were even together at all. That familiar hum in Sora's heart made it very clear that destroying the dark creature lurking in Notre Dame's sewers was the right decision, even if Clopin dragged it out longer still. "Fine. Where's Jehan going to be, anyway?"

Ramza shook his head and marched on past the crowd. "Claude Frollo's eulogy, of course. It's why he came in the first place." Following the portly man towards one of the city gates, he watched another beam being installed in the bell tower's ravaged framework. "He knew from the start of this that no matter what happened, either his brother or his friends would lie dead at the end of things, Sora. So let him be alone with his grief."

The Keyblade Master watched Jehan's form recede into the crowd until it was gone.

* * *

Delita Hyral had witnessed a great many castles in his life, but none so strange and obviously generated by sorcery as the death-white castle that occupied the heart of the abyss called "The World that Never Was". Asymmetrical and evidently lacking in any real floor plan, the place always struck an unfamiliar chord of fear within what remained of his heart which the catacombs of Notre Dame had but brushed- the fear of becoming lost. Thankfully, a familiar face awaited him when he stepped from a portal of darkness his special weapon had created, ready to lead him to the top of the central spire.

To be sure, Delita did not assume such of his guide, a fat, anthromorphized dog creature named Pete. His form suited his role for his master now, despite the intimidating new outfit he'd been granted since last they'd met. It spoke something of their mutual leader that she preferred a thug like him as a second-in-command to any number of dark-hearted beings who might have joined their enterprise- intelligence in suboordinates was only welcome when it served _her_ purposes.

_Just as well then_, he mused as a pair of the massive Defender Heartless moved from guarding a large door to a marble stairwell. _Our goals are similar, but not concurrent. Were I in Pete's shoes, it would be impossible to conceal my true reasons. _Let the witch think what she wanted, assuming him another easily-led pawn such as the 'Riku' he'd heard them speak of. He knew the score, as did the pitiful Heartless now trailing behind them.

"In here, kid", Pete ordered glumly, pointing up a staircase that somehow only appeared when someone stepped on it, occasionally broken up by solid platforms floating in the air.

"What's wrong, pup?", he asked playfully. "Not getting much light these days?"

Pete grumbled something low but Delita did not press him further. Whatever his faults, he was too dimwitted to be of much concern. Leaving him, Delita ascended the stairs while trying not to look down. Two more massive armored Heartless he couldn't even identify guarded the door at the top, but like the Defenders these two stepped aside for him. Finally, at the very top of the spire, the black-robed witch Maleficent awaited him.

As usual, she struck her new servant as missing something. Certainly she remained incredibly powerful, more knowledgeable of the Keyblade and Heartless than he. A massive superiority complex fueled her every word and action, and for that Delita had often wondered what strange World might have spawned such evil. For all her strengths, she had never known love or companionship, all the wonderful feelings from a normal life that still resided in his memories, kept him warm at night. Because of that absence, he considered her incomplete. Whatever power had allowed her to raise this very castle from it's earlier destruction, an undiluted evil like hers always seemed a tad comical in hindsight. _She seeks domination of the Worlds to satisfy her own ego, nothing more. But for now, I must stomach her megalomania._

Accordingly, he bowed with an over-the-top bow his leader would consider ordinary. "Mission accomplished, milady."

"So I surmised", Maleficent said with her back positioned invitingly towards him. A trap for would-be betrayers that was too obvious to catch him. "You took longer than expected."

"A thousand pardons. I wasn't sure which way to take it. Frollo's heart was dark, no question, but his fanatical pride and devotion to order would never let him obey us. Also, you might be interested to know that your old enemy showed up."

Turning, the witch stared at him hard. "The boy? Sora?"

"Indeed. Not that he hindered me at all." Thinking back to the strange boy, he motioned his passenger forward. "May I present... the Heartless of Judge Claude Frollo."

A hollow-looking robe of black and emerald, the new creature bore no physical similarities to the man it had been made from, sharing only the element he was most closely associated with. Whether Heartless or Nobody, a creature of darkness possessing the power to _heal_ was passing rare, and would certainly be of use to Maleficent. She sized up the yellow-eyed being in satisfaction before dismissing it to join the army below. Thankfully, it followed without hesitation. Whatever will Frollo might have had to disobey resided in his other half.

"Well done", she finally confessed, waving one arm to generate a small number of the hanging green flames that were her calling card. "Yet while you were gone, I was able to locate two more powerful beings of evil hearts that might serve our purposes. I shall grant you the choice of which to take first, but I desire both of their Heartless."

_Only two_?_, _he asked himself. _Pay my World a visit, witch, and you'll find a thousand aristocrats with hearts blacker than soot. _"Go on."

On cue, the leftmost flame erupted into a colorful image of a thin, dark-skinned man who shared Maleficent's fashion sense in spirit if not in form- a snazzy black suit and absurdly tall hat compensated for the comical buck-teeth in his affectionate-seeming smile.

"Now here is a man of charm and grace", Maleficent explained as they spied on the tall man. "He lives in a World of superstition and aristrocracy, much like your own."

"Swell", he muttered. She actually sounded impressed by this tall shadow man. "Are you going to marry him or what?"

She scoffed. "Don't be a fool. His magic, though different from mine, is still very potent. Even better, he is currently leashed to a collection of shadow spirits who hold his very soul in escrow. Control that, and you control him."

With the first target done, the second flame repeated the same performance, displaying a creature who, despite wearing bipedal garb, could not possibly be human. A strange, broad hat encrusted with fungal colonies framed a bulging visage of sickly yellow flesh, decorated by dozens of tentacles and a wrathful scowl that actually made Delita take a step back.

"This one has also indirectly put his life into our hands prematurely", Maleficent continued. "Upon the vast and treacherous oceans of his World, he is feared by all who sail it as the undertaker of the seven seas, having surpassed his human origin, literally placing his own heart into a treasure chest before burying it on a forgotten island." She grinned wickedly. "Find that chest, boy, and he is ours forever."

Delita sighed. Even Pete could see the pattern here. "Holy power. Shadow power. Sea power... And now you're reaching out to your old friend Hades for 'Fire'. You're looking for access to magicks different from your own, specific to each World, combining them... into what? Why?"

Maleficent seemed to have stolen the tentacled sea reaper's scowl. She preferred her servants strong and dumb, not introspective. "That is none of your concern, boy, particularly if you ever wish to see your dear sister again. Now choose."

The low blow made Delita's teeth grind, but he dared not push the witch further. It didn't really matter now, did it? "Alright, alright. I'll think it over." Nonthreateningly, he raised his sword curiously. "In the meantime, this thing left something to be desired. Think you could take another look?"

He hadn't expected much assistance, and was not surprised. "Imbecilic human. It's not what's wrong with that blade I fashioned, it's what's wrong with _you_. Combined with the proper heart, that weapon should surpass the 'Oblivion', at least." For a moment, her pride with the instrument of darkness in his hand seemed less overblown and closer to home, making her seem almost grandmotherly. " 'Dischordium' is my finest work yet, after years of dealing with Keyblade-users, learning of their weapons. It accomplished what you set out to do, did it not?"

Exasperated, he turned to face the massive cluster of somber buildings spread below them. Those streets teemed with Heartless. "I suppose it did. I'll take five, then. Remember our arrangement."

"Don't be too long", she reminded once his foot touched the first step down. "If the Keyblade Master truly is back on the move, it's only a matter of time before he gets word of our efforts."

Stopping, he chuckled. Any opportunity to ridicule this pompous witch. "Why so scared, Maleficent? Didn't you say you've dealt with Keyblade-users far more experienced than him?"

"Different ones", she considered, palming a sharp-pointed chin but smiling confidently. "Not necessarily _superior_. Something about that child reminds me... Well. Never mind about that. Regardless of his name, soul, or age, with these new allies the Keyblade Master will at last fall before us, and then all the Worlds shall be mine for the taking."

Delita Hyral smiled too, already out of sight and out of mind. _I don't think so, witch._

_

* * *

_

A passerby could never know for sure, but the festival of lights seemed subdued compared to the reckless joviality Notre Dame's people had demonstrated only weeks before. There were plenty of reasons for that of course, but overall it seemed less a celebration than a moment taken by those in command to clear the air between them and the regular townsfolk. Simple briar lamps and streamers were arranged about the square, where the last of the wounded had been treated and released just in time. Many couples joined in a more cordial waltz, while those without gathered around the pavillion at the back to regale the rest with tales of what they'd been doing during the days of burning buildings and crazed soldiers. Most everyone knew the names Sora and Quasimodo.

Leaning against the pavillion out of sight, Ramza Beoluve did not mind being the lesser legend here, for it appeared as though Sora was equally unused to people cheering and slapping him on the back. It was enough to watch the results of their work, where Clopin and the new captain of the guard had already arranged a public statement once everyone had taken some time to relax.

"Sir Beoluve?"

Startled, he looked down. The girl was familiar despite being of Notre Dame. Who...?

Ah. Yes. The maid they'd saved from the burning inn on the first night, bruised and tarnished but successfully survived a period of rampant destruction. She looked well. "And just how may I help you, young lady?"

The maid looked frightened "I-I-I... S-someone asked me to ask you... to come to the cathedral rooftop."

With more self-confident messenger he might have asked for details, but he was sure she didn't know much more than he did. Kneeling down, he rumpled her hair playfully. "I hope whoever sent you rewarded you appropriately for this service."

Ever timid, she brought out a dozen coins from her apron pocket. "Y-yes sir."

"Good. You run along now. Find someone to dance with." Who would call him away at this hour? He could not expect payment for services rendered. _At least, not in monetary form_, he dared hope as he strode through the frame which once held the great wooden doors of Notre Dame cathedral. One of these still hung off to the side, suspended by the few hinges which had survived the battle.

Up past the more heavily-destroyed portions of ancient architecture, he saw the gypsy Esmerelda watching the dance from the first walkway, legs dangling off the rail. "Not a big social person", she noted wryly the moment he'd come within sight. "Are you, Mister Beoluve?"

Surprised, he walked up and leaned on the rail next to her. "I should be asking the same of you, lady Esmerelda. I would assume your patrons to be in a more generous mood towards your people as of late. Why pass up those coins, after giving your messenger so many?"

She chuckled. "I'll live a few days more without income. Our way is not to ask the hospitality or the charity of any one group for long. I'm sure Quasi would let me stay and eat up here forever if I asked... But even if I felt like being cooped up in the tower, that would be taking advantage of him. As for the girl, she lost her job. At least I can dance for coins or crash at a friend's, but she has no one to turn to." Turning, she smiled brightly. "Those given charity pass on their fortune, if they are wise. Sharing the wealth is the only way a great deal of our people survive... And I'm not talking about gypsies."

"Truly", he nodded, sensing truth in her words. That was how many cities in his own World lived on even while their rulers expended colossal fortunes on war. These people had not yet been driven to the brink that had caused a major revolution in his home, though the surge of rue that had made them fight Frollo was close. "My turn, then. Yes. I cannot feel too comfortable around so many. That was true before I touched a sword, but as I told sir Sora, a warrior cannot ever feel truly at ease."

"Funny you should mention him", she noted, looking down to see Sora finally partaking in some well-needed irresponsibility below. "He doesn't seem to have that problem."

"He's young. Give him time. Besides, his heart waits for another."

From the way her black brows rose, he could tell she hadn't heard anything about Kairi. "Huh. She's a lucky girl, to have someone like that. Even if they're too young to understand what it means."

Sigh. Ramza could see where this was going. More than one woman had been infatuated with him in his travels, usually several years older than he. "Then rejoice, lady Esmerelda, for you have one as well. I have no doubt that the Hunchback would lay down his life to see you safe. You did not see, but it was he who started the counterattack against Frollo. He swung down, and saved you from the fire."

Message recieved, but she did not seem to wish to listen, staring balefully up at the tower Quasimodo had called home for twenty years. "I should, shouldn't I... But no. It feels wrong."

"Wrong?", he challenged. He'd never formed much of a rapport with the Hunchback himself in their time together, but felt he owed Quasimodo an eloquent attempt to sway his love, at least. "You were the one who brought him out from behind the veil of lies. You were the one who saw the good in him, even when he could not see it in himself. What is _wrong_ with having him as more than a friend?"

She thought for a moment, then pointed at Sora. "That's what's wrong. If Sora is a child in body and heart, then Quasimodo's a child in his mind. Twenty years in that bell tower is not the same as living twenty years in the city, among people. I _know_ he's dedicated to me, more than any adult ever should be. That's the problem, see. It always feels like I'm taking advantage of his trust. I'm not that kind of woman." Blinking back tears, she smiled bravely at him. "He's young. I'll give him time. After all, my heart isn't taken yet."

He digested that in silence, immediately pitying the bellringer's naive soul. Gods knew love could be the most wondrous thing in the world as much as the most destructive. "I... understand. I just hope that he does."

"And what about _your_ heart, sir Beoluve?" Carefully, she clasped both arms over his shoulders, regarding him intently. He could feel the power in that wonderfully warm, green gaze, alluring but not sinister or desperate. "I know it's not money that really brought you here. You would have tried to get more than what Clopin gave you if it was, and you're far too kind for a mercenary"

Thinking back to the real mercenaries he'd met over the years, he silently agreed. All he'd said about his difficulties with people rang true in his head, but even the most cuthroat barbarian would be affected by this. Ramza drew closer, whispering. "A long-lost heart, not passionate love but familial. My sister, Alma, is missing, and no man in my World knows her whereabouts. That, my lady, is my true goal."

Her face fell. "Then you'll be leaving soon, right? Back on the road with Sora, to find her?"

"After we slay the beast in the sewers, yes. But we- I- will always remember you and your home. Like you, my heart is not taken."

Eyes closed, she gazed downwards before shooting back up with new energy. "Good. Then there's no way this can hurt Quasimodo."

Before whatever meager resistance he had left could protest, she came forward, pulling closer until their lips locked together as if meant to be that way. The sound of firecrackers woke them from it, though neither could say how long their bodies had been pressing against one another. "Take care, then", she said after finding her breath again. "I'll always remember you, too."

* * *

_Please pretend_

_You will understand in time_

_I can only hope I can understand in time_

_What we shared was a dream, and nothing more_

_

* * *

_M: Can't say I'm thrilled with all my page breakers suddenly disappearing due to a format change, but hopefully these new ones will stick around. It's been a few months since last update but hopefully I can finish the last few chapters sooner. Depending on feedback I may or may not expand on the threads hinted at in this chapter, so let me know what you think.


	13. Treize

Disc: The usual. Oh, and just like last time there's a T-rated scene.

* * *

Treize

* * *

In the end, there were only two. Anyone else who might have accompanied the Keyblade Master into the forgotten network of sewers beyond the Grand Gate were either too tired out from partying or too scared of what lay within. The size of the latter group did not deter Ramza or Quasimodo from volunteering early in the morning, and so the three of them accompanied several other gypsies all the way back down through the catacombs to the Court of Miracles.

Though the Court seemed diminished without its populace to make it lively, Sora could see that Lamperouge was back at his post. Surely as the demise of Claude Frollo's gypsy hunt might allow Clopin's people to come out into the open more often, the fact yet remained that prejudice towards them would continue to run high in France. So long as they continued to use tricks of hand and mind unbeknownst to the rest of their World, so long as they hid away from society at large, they would always be outcasts, wanderers with no real home.

Sora showed none of this, simply walking up to the gate with his party and matching Lamperouge's gaze. The old gypsy still entertained hopes of talking him out of it by the look of him, and Sora expressed just as easily though eyes the resolve to see it through. Finally, he broke down. "I had hoped our chat in the square had changed your mind, Monsieur Sora", he admitted. "Your wounds have not yet fully recovered. Should you fall here, your soul may become La Tonnsectere's next meal. To say nothing of the damage if it escapes."

"_I'll_ worry about my soul", the Keyblade Master replied confidently. "Together, we can take down anything, right guys?"

Quasimodo smiled and flashed a thumbs up while Ramza simply nodded. "Sora says that Nobodies are generally stronger than Heartless", he reasoned curtly. "That being the case, we have already triumphed over a particularly nasty example of the former."

Looking side to side, Lamperouge felt the gate's dusty stone. "Where is Clopin, then? Surely he would wish to play a part in destroying this fiend should God grant you a miracle. Four heads are better than three."

Sora scratched at his hair sheepishly. "Wellll... He got kind of excited last night, and today he asked to be left alone."

The gatekeeper chuckled. "Say no more. A wondrous thing, our ale, that is until you wake up the day after with demons tormenting your skull. Not that you have cause to worry about that." Glancing over the other way, he beckoned an unseen observer to join them. "Come, brother. They'll not be satisfied until they're permitted their go with the beast. We will need your key."

Jehan Frollo slowly emerged from the shadows, looking as though he'd been crying. "You told them how crazy this is?", he asked.

"Several 'undred times", Lamperouge concurred.

"It's a sucker's bet", the fat man claimed, clearly sharing his concerns. "My favorite kind. So don't you go dying down there, alright Sora?"

Nearly as confused as he'd been when first meeting him, Sora looked from one man to the other. "_He's_ the key keeper?"

Lamperouge gave a superior smirk, taking a tiny metal implement from Jehan's left pant leg. "Who better? Brother Jehan comes and goes as he pleases, and no one would ever suspect a _bruglione_ like him- particularly Claude Frollo's own flesh and blood- to carry the key to this vital secret. That is why we summoned him here, even before the Court was attacked."

"So Clopin has more faith in us than he'd let us believe", Ramza commented shrewdly. "And I bet his little problem with the beer was intentional as well."

"I'll take that bet", Jehan rumbled while Quasimodo scratched his head. "What do you mean? He would help us if he could, right?"

The Beoluve shook his head. "Not if what Sora told me is true. But we shouldn't waste any further time gabbing on like magpies. There's a monster down in that sewer, and it's up to us to slay it."

"Oui", Lamperouge agreed, sliding Jehan's key into a slot which required him to stand on his toes to reach in the middle of the gate's frame. Turning it, he stepped back and drew a small pouch from his belt. "You may wish to cover your eyes, gentlemen."

Sure enough, after a moment the entire Court lit up with a white flash that pierced even closed eyelids. When Sora could see again, the Grand Gate had split down the middle vertically, a line which grew as the two halves slid aside into the walls without complaint. Beyond lay a corridor easily five times Sora's width and height, with a faint trail of disgusting sewage the only detail visible in a darkness more oppressive than the blackest of nights.

"_Vite_", Lamperouge urged, pushing Quasi forward. "Every second the gate remains open is another for La Tonnsectere to escape into Notre Dame, and begin devouring the hearts of the people."

"It won't", Sora vowed as he too strode into the sub-sewer before them. It felt like the path was already heading down at an angle. "I promise."

"Do what you have to do, monsieur", the gatekeeper echoed back knowingly, "to save the World from darkness."

Then, all too quickly, the gate was shut again. Impulsively gesturing with the Keyblade and pleasantly surprised to see it giving off a dim light, Sora led the way downward into the dank.

* * *

The underlevels reeked.

The stench of a hundred years of human waste permeated every bit of the sewer where 'La Tonnsectere' had been locked away for so long beneath the Court of Miracles, and no matter how the three travellers tried, they could not stay on dry ground for long. Though none of them had complained openly yet, Sora could tell none were exactly comfortable with it, not any more than the faint light of the Keyblade providing the only illumination.

Then there was the matter of navigation- had the rounded corridors been completely lit, it might still have been a confusing maze of identical passageways. The loss of direction was starting to remind him of the his first visit to Atlantica two years ago, though thankfully devoid of Heartless so far, though now and then they would stumble upon signs of human bones that left him shuddering. Back then, Ariel had helped him regain his bearings and later how to keep track of oneself in a watery world he was utterly foreign to, but now he highly doubted someone so friendly would be appearing down here. Without looking into their eyes, he could tell that the stress was starting to build in his comrades, and in him.

"You're sure there's something down here, Sora?", Quasimodo asked, finally so desperate for a break in the tension so to risk his voice carrying. "I haven't seen anything yet."

"I'm sure", he replied in certainty. "That Heartless sent me a dream before we even opened the gate. It's here, and it's powerful."

"The gypsies would not have gone to all the trouble of sealing the underlevels without reason", Ramza offered neutrally from the rear. "Unless the creature died somehow. Do Heartless have a minimum lifespan? Particularly without food?"

"I don't know. I don't know." Sora looked down into the sludge distastefully. There he was again, expected to know everything about the Heartless when there was so much that he didn't. Even Ansem's notes on them didn't elaborate completely when they'd been legible at all. All one really needed to know was how to defeat them, and how to stop their spread across the Worlds. That was priority one, even if they had to spend all day down here, unpleasant as that would be.

The cry from ahead was almost as welcome as it was surprising. Almost. It was not a welcoming one, to be certain. The mournful howl echoed in the tight spaces, making his entire body erupt in gooseflesh. The awful smell had changed too, a burning sensation almost like-

His blue eyes grew huge. "Out of the water! Now!"

They didn't waste time with stupid questions. By the time the electricity had spread down the sewage current to where they were, all three were positioned on the tiny side ledges, watching the stuff boil with the energy unleashed into it, and hearing a sound with it not unlike a gurgling stomach.

"La _Tonnsectere_", Ramza emphasized, trying not to show his fright at the prospect of what would have happened had Sora not been paying attention. "The 'Thunder Bug'. How often is the demon going to do that, you think?"

"I don't know", he repeated, looking down at the boiling soup. Even electrified by lightning, it remained one of the most disgusting things he'd seen or smelt in his travels. "Not often, I hope. But we must be getting close. I-"

_A new awareness awoke to pain. _

_Faced with a thousand questions at once, it instinctively followed the guidance of fried nerve endings to gain better sense of its own body and mind. Every bit ached without an obvious source, prompting it to open its green eyes for the first time._

_There were endless rows of stones arranged into what the awareness could remember was called a 'street', framed by buildings. She had been sprawled facedown in this street, in an out-of-the-way alley few people of the city ever visited. Other facts came back freely now, but she was frustrated that for all of that her own name remained a blank._

_Think back. There had been a fire. Yes, that was it. She could remember having been burned alive, the impossible pain of it powerful and lost-lasting enough to follow her... Wherever 'here' was. Beyond death? Her golden hair had been tussled into a ratty mess by her position on the ground, but completely undamaged, and the same applied to the rest of her. With a start, the awareness realized she was completely nude._

_Right on cue, someone was coming her way._

"Sora?"

He blinked, shaking off the trance and remembering who, where, and what he was. "How long...?"

"Only a minute", the hunchback said, eyes even more twisted-looking in the dark no matter how gentle and concerned they looked. "But we were worried. We thought you'd been hit by the lightning!"

Sitting up, Sora leaned against the wall and tried to process what he'd just seen and felt. This was far from the first time he'd experienced a dream that felt so real he had to stop a moment and ponder which was the illusion. Every thought and sensation had been authentic enough to have been a part of someone else's memory, however hazy.

"Are you all right?", Ramza asked, far enough away to be invisible but still equally concerned. "We can head back if you're not feeling well. I've memorized the labyrinth, I've got a pretty good idea of how to get back to the Court of Miracles from here."

"No", he stood up again, watching the current for signs of another lightning blast. This would take his full concentration to detect when the sewage was conducting lightning, and when it was safe to go. "I'm fine. I'm good to go. Just a bit dizzy from the smell."

The Beoluve cracked a dry smile. "I know. It is something else, isn't it? Even the fetid swamps of my World do not compare. We'll have to wash for a solid day afterward."

He blinked. "Fetid?"

"Look it up sometime once we get out of here. Back to the point, you are _certain_ you are alright, Sir Sora?"

"I'm fine", he insisted, breathing out any lethargy for what he knew lay ahead of them. "And even if I didn't, we don't have a choice. It knows we're here now. No turning back."

The darkness yawned before them.

* * *

_The awareness still had many gaps in her memory but still remembered enough to be able to imagine what the reaction would be, and the assumptions that could rightly be made, when these two tall figures that looked like adult men came upon a naked woman in a city like this. Straining to stand, fighting the pain, she immediately drew back into the shadows, frantically covering up the parts of her body that one of the two men seemed suddenly eager to train his eye on._

_His _eye_. Singular. The other one had a black patch of cloth blocking what she presumed to be an empty socket, with a scar running concurrently across the top from beneath short-cropped black hair. The other one beside him bore no such injuries on his darker skin, with angelic silver hair flowing down across the identical black robes that the two men wore. "Go away!", she tried to shout at them only for her voice to crack from disuse. It sounded wrong, somehow. "Perverts!"_

_The one with the eyepatch laughed, not intimidated in the least by her frightened-sounding protest. "Hey, girly. No need to bite."_

_Unconvinced but lacking in weapons, she covered up and withdrew further behind a small milk crate, the only cover available. "Stop looking, or I swear I'll kill you." Pain. Pain had woken her just in time to save her modesty. Pain was her friend. If either of these black-robed men tried to force their way on her, she'd introduce them. It would be her pleasure._

_Eyepatch merely scoffed, rolling his one eye. "Well excuuuuse me, princess! Fine. Here ya go." He waved one hand and the awareness felt the welcome sensation of clothes on her body again, identical to the dark robes the two men wore. Unfamiliar and baggy everywhere but her chest, but scores better than wearing nothing at all. Looking over it to make sure the lecherous one hadn't done anything 'extra' to it, she stepped out from behind the crate._

_"There", sarcastic eyepatch observed, still looking her over the same way as before. "Satisfied?"_

_"Hardly", she snarled back. "Who the hell are you people? How did I get here?"_

_"Very hostile", the dark-skinned one finally spoke, a deep voice devoid of eyepatch's teasing or indeed any emotion beyond calmness. "Understandable, as we were all similarly confused when we first awoke. I am Xemnas, the Superior of Organization XIII. And we have come for you, number XII."_

_"My offer's still open", she told him crossly, folding both her gloved arms defiantly. She _so_wanted to hurt them. "Start talking sense or else."_

_Eyepatch bent over, chuckling. "Ah-hah-hah-yeah... I like the look of this one, boss. Haven't had a girl around since Aqua, y'know? Gets a little stifling eh, dude?"_

_"Be silent", Xemnas commanded him sharply. "The Keyblade Master's gender matters not. What matters is that she can gather the hearts that we require until the Keyblade passes on to another."_

_A bit more comfortable now, but still keeping one eye on eyepatch for any attempt to grab her goods, she arched an eyebrow, which she noticed was as golden as her hair. "Gather hearts? What?"_

_"You are a Nobody", Xemnas said, as if that explained everything. "Just like us. We are what's left... Or, perhaps, all that ever was. With our help, the lingering anger and hatred forged you from the remains of a Keyblade Master, and so you will retain the same ability for exactly three hundred and fifty-eight days. The ability to call upon the power of the Keyblade."_

_She sighed, feeling utterly out of her depth with this one. His serious, golden eyes reflected an age far beyond normal mortal limits, and dark secrets no one in Notre Dame had ever dreamt of. "Still not getting you. You think I have a 'Key-blade'?"_

_"Your 'other' did, before she was burned to death by the people here", Xemnas claimed simply, and gestured to his compatriot. "Number II?"_

_Eyepatch nodded. Stretching one hand out, he opened one gloved palm and a strange weapon appeared in his hand as if by magic. She could remember seeing handheld crossbows from somewhere, but this spiked purple device was so different looking it did not register as a ranged weapon until it had fired three bolts directly at her face._

Sora jerked himself awake, roused by an alarming smell. "Again."

Familiar with it by now, his allies quickly removed themselves from the water just in time to avoid the lightning for the fourth or fifth time. Quasimodo's nose wrinkled at the smell of cooked waste, and Ramza looked back at his friend once more. "Again? That is one chatty Heartless."

Sora shook his head, feeling drops of liquid flying from his hair. "No, I don't think it's talking to me. It's more like... I'm getting flashes of it's past. Or someone's past anyway. The Organization is there, back from before we defeated them. It might not even be deliberately doing this."

"Either way sir Sora, don't let it distract you."

Sora faced him. "Don't worry. We have to be getting pretty close to the Heartless by now. How far down does this go, anyway?"

None of them had any reliable answer to that. It felt like they'd been going for hours. "I want to try something.", he decided at last. "But if I get shocked, pull me out, okay?"

Sure enough, it wasn't long before the next surge of the frying smell that meant conducted lightning was coming their way. Ramza and the hunchback both ducked to either side as usual, but Sora did not budge. "Hurry, Sora!", he heard Quasi call. "It's coming!"

"I know. It's fine.", his friend called back absently, focusing most all of his attention ahead of him. "I have to face it head-on." _Come on. Come on. Any second now. Any- Now!_

As he'd hoped, reflexes tuned by years of trials served him well, and he managed to raise the Keyblade moments before the current slammed into him. "_Reflega!"_

The noise was incredible, but more importantly, the sphere of light protected him against all but the slightest tingle as the lightning struck before it shattered into fragments that tore into the masonry around them. Sora stood motionless, ankle-deep in the filthy water, aghast but unharmed to his allies' great relief as they left the ledges. "You're more clever than you look, sir", Ramza complimented him. "I never would have thought of using magicks that way. Against natural lightning that would have been useless, but since the attack itself was magical in nature..."

"Something like that", Sora grinned cheekily, unconciously hiding how his heart had been hammering in doubt. "I figured it worked against just about everything else if I timed it right."

"Does that mean", Quasimodo prodded, always shy around anyone but Esmerelda. "That we can enter the places without ledges?"

The other two looked around curiously, guided by the Keyblade's light. Indeed, there had been several open mains they dared not traverse, since no ledges on the sides meant they would certainly be shocked by La Tonnsectere's distance attacks. That in itself might not be immediately lethal, particularly not to the lumbering Quasimodo, but falling facefirst into the electrified sewage as a result definitely would be. Shooing away the smell once again, Sora brightened. "Yeah, it does! I've got my limits on using that, but..."

"I think we're going to have to", the hunchback sighed in worry. "See, I've been tracking the corridors in this place too. It's just like Esmerelda's pendant."

"What do you mean?"

Quasi drummed the grimy walls nervously, looking down into the filth. "I mean, it's a miniature model of the city. We've been going around in a big circle this whole time, with the gate at the top. But there's something in the center of the cross inside the circle where the bell tower would be, something we've always avoided going near because those mains don't have ledges to save us from the lightning."

The three quietly considered that for a moment. "And here I thought actually defeating the demon would be the hardest part", Ramza finally commented. "The kid is right. We've been circling around the whole time because we avoided those mains. The only way we can reach the 'Thunder Bug' is through sir Sora's magicks... Mayhap those passages had their ledges removed deliberately? Chewed off by the beast?"

"Either way", Sora chipped in wearily, seeing where this was going, "this is going be _really_ annoying."

As if to punctuate the point, the floor slid away beneath him once again.

_Her eyes shut by reflex as she threw up her hands before the bolts. Not that it would have done any good, but when she opened them again the weapon she assumed to be the Keyblade lay within her clenched fists, having deflected all three bolts without even looking. Of course eyepatch hadn't been trying, but still she gasped, nearly dropping it._

_"You are the Nobody of the Keyblade's chosen", Xemnas proclaimed, for once looking almost happy at the sight of the strange weapon. "You will help us gather the hearts we need to be complete again."_

_She thought for a minute, and pointed the weapon towards his neck. "Because of course, I have no say in this, right? If you're so smart, then what's my name?"_

_Xemnas opened his mouth, but no sound came out. This time she _did_ drop the Keyblade, only for it to return to her hands. "Your name is _."_

_Terror nearly overpowered her anger then. It would seem strange over such a small thing, but more than anything now she wanted to remember her name and identity. And this silver-haired hunk was playing mind games with her. "Say it", she demanded him, closing, ready to attack with her single weapon no matter what eyepatch tried to do to interfere. She'd hurt them until they answered, make them scream. "SAY IT! NOW!"_

_Eyepatch did not try to stop her; merely chuckled knowingly. "You can't hear it, can you? Even though we all know your name is _, _you _can't hear it. Your brain can't even understand the word when we say _. Just like whenever someone says my old name, right Xemmy? Can't hear a thing. They'll be all like, 'your name is _.' "_

_"Indeed", Xemnas concurred. "Your new form is incomplete, forever seperated from your old one. Nobodies can never grasp their former names- the very word is taboo to your mind. You cannot read it or hear it."_

No... My name... Forever lost. I'll never know who I am. No!

_"Fear not". She felt Xemnas' hand on her shoulder, only dimly aware that she'd sunk to her knees from the horrible revelation. Not comforting her, but trying to bolster her will and inure her further into his cause. "We all created names for our new selves when we became Nothing. Number II here is called Xigbar. Who shall you be, my dear?"_

_She froze, still frantically going over what memories she did have for some clue, any clue about her name. There was a wanted poster with her mugshot on it, with the name blurred out just above the reward. A man in a different style of robes proclaiming her crimes before starting the blaze that killed her. A younger man in colorful robes, a clown who called her name with affection, with love. All of it blocked out; she could not even remember the clown's name. She could remember Nothing._

_

* * *

_

The journey to the heart of the underlevels had been every bit as strenous as Sora antipicated- lots of slogging through the tunnels at the necessarily slowed pace to be able to tell when the lightning was about to come and cast the spell to block it in time. With every instance he could feel that familiar ethereal tug on his mind that the part of his brain responsible for making magic was becoming more and more exhausted. With every instance, the nagging worry that he would run out in the middle of an empty drain grew. Gritting against that possibility, he went back over everything old Merlin had ever taught him of magic, a silent mantra to keep him focused at a time when loss of focus meant either death, or at least serious injury for all three of them.

Finally, just when it seemed the disgusting path would never end, a light shone at the end. A dim yellow one, but it was enough to make the trio run the final distance into a much wider room, nearly dry save for a handful of channels the width of fingers. They spread out from the center like a web, branching into the various tunnels before widening into the stretches of dark water they were used to.

And there, sitting in the middle of the chamber on top of the center of the web, was their quarry. 'La Tonnsectere'. The creature looked surprisingly plain as far as Heartless went, lacking in distinctive texture beyond the engulfing black most commonly associated with the Heartless, and the beady yellow eyes common to them as well. The shape was more distinctive, most resembling a cockroach the size of a house, with incredibly long antennae on it's head which dangled down as if extremely weighty.

It was then, just when Ramza and Sora had readied their weapons, that the antennae's purpose became evident. Lady Relena's Heartless gave another mournful roar, and the two feelers sparked with a familiar electric glow, pouring into two of the drains as they lowered into the water.

"Clopin could defeat this Heartless", Sora reminded the others. "And so can we. Let's go!"

Just like that, all three plus the Heartless moved together. Two shapeless blasts of blue-tinged lightning lanced out at an immediately scattered group and two of them charged head on, not seeing the creature's reinforcements until they seemed buried in glowing yellow eyes falling from the gloom above.

Sora gasped, elbowing one out of his face. Shadow Heartless. The weakest kind, but in such numbers it hardly mattered- there had to be at least fifty of the things, squirming around the chamber like maggots. Though he could make out Quasimodo throwing them about with brute strength and Ramza belting out war cries as he sliced them into bits of darkness, the ambush had bought 'La Tonnsectere' the time needed to focus its antennae. Two more blasts came, one deflected by the Keyblade but the other electrocuting the hunchback until he fell to the stone floor, howling.

His friend blanched, his heart curdled by the sound- in spite of his age, Quasimodo was still very much a child in mind, and reacted to serious pain much like one. Gritting his teeth, Sora brought forth his own thunder, the powerful spell clearing away all the Shadows that had piled on top of him. He heard Ramza shouting over repeated slashes at the creature's head: "He's tough! Try the Bellringer!"

Hearing that, Quasi forced himself to stand and nodded. "Ready, Sora!"

None of the remaining Shadows even tried to stop the two of them from coming together, and any which tried to stop the swinging piledriver the hunchback became afterward would have been wasting what little lives they had. Dodging lightning and flailing antennae, the three-part composite which had defeated Frollo's Nobody rose, swinging into the main Heartless with full strength. More than any other time, Sora felt impressed and proud by the physical power of the deformed, shy litte boy riding beneath him- the mammoth creature actually skidded back with the first blow, only stopped because it could not fit through the pipe behind it. Two more such strikes left it reeling even as its antennae writhed about independently.

Hearing Ramza's victorious yells, Sora dared hope for a moment they'd won... But he'd overplayed the technique. The fourth ring was interrupted when both feelers suddenly came together, combining their seperate charges into a single massive bolt and taking the Keyblade Master in the midsection.

"SORA! NO!"

He'd been electrocuted before. The magics of Ursula the Sea Witch, not to mention Larxene herself, had left stark, painful memories he would just as soon have forgotten about. This, however, was an order of magnitude greater- a terrible, numbing jolt which spread to every inch of his body before making it writhe like a thing possessed. Defeated, he slumped down to the floor, dropping the hunchback.

He came awake again to his chest aching and his teeth feeling like they should have been blown out. Yet aside from the burning sensation, no lasting wounds were present. He could feel two hands holding him from behind, trying to haul him up. "Please. You mustn't let it end like this. Not now."

Sora gave a weak cough. "You forgot." It seemed like Ramza had cleared out the rest of the Shadows while they'd been swinging around, and now only 'La Tonnsectere' remained standing against the two intact fighters. He chuckled. "You forgot to say 'sir'."

The fact that he could still joke satisfied the Beoluve for the moment, and he left to join Quasimodo in hammering away at the creature's carapace. While injured, it was clear the thing had plenty of fight left in it, not to mention plenty of electricity.

Electricity that, despite how much his frame ached, felt like it should have been much worse. Why was that?

Still floaty-minded, he looked away from the fight and down at his left arm. There should have been a scar there, a mark, something. _The Keyblade's Chosen One..._

_Not looking up at either of them, she giggled. "Hahaha... I have no name. I have no name. I'm Nothing. Now that's funny." The small giggle grew into a laugh and the laugh a mad rapaciousness, echoing in the darkened streets. Anyone else overhearing it would assume the woman had taken in far too much wine than was healthy. "Ahahahaha! No name! No name! That's absolutely goddamned hilarious! Ohoho, this is just too GOOD."_

_The two men- if they could be considered to be men- did not seem concerned with witnessing a mental breakdown. Perhaps it was customary for a new Nobody. Xemnas stood, letting her cackle mirthlessly on the cobblestones for a few minutes before becoming sick of it. "Perhaps you desire a name closer to your old one?"_

_She stopped laughing, stood again. "You guys know it. You just can't say it. Tell me. Tell me now or I'll stick this thing where you really don't want it."_

_Xemnas paused, pensive but unmoved by her threats. "Then Larxene shall be your new name, if you like it. It is similar to your old one, but you can hear it."_

_She rolled her green eyes, almost past caring about such trivialities. "Whatever. Sooo, what do you need me to do with this thing?"_

_"Send us the corrupted hearts of others", Xemnas explained simply. "Strike down the dark creatures called 'Heartless' with your Keyblade, which will send them directly to our Kingdom Hearts."_

_She chuckled wildly again. This guy knew a whole lot, but that stick up his butt wasn't doing him any favors. "Okay, buh-bye now!" To her great amusement, both men took several seconds to react to her just walking out of the alley, taking the Keyblade with her. "Wait! What are you doing, girl?"_

_She leered back at him with a thin-lipped smile. "Isn't it obvious? I'm going to have some fun with the soldiers here. How loud do you think they'll scream when I stab them with this?"_

_"Not very", Xigbar offered neutrally, though he too had a contagious smile on his face at her enthusiasm towards the pain and suffering of others. Old Xemnas looked like he didn't even know what a smile was. "The Keyblade isn't so great at hurting complete people, yeah? Just Heartless, Unversed, and Nobodies. You'll want to use your other powers for that."_

_"Oh", she noted innocently, dismissing the key and bringing forth surges of lightning crackling at her fingertips, a power instinctive enough that she could feel it just waiting to be unleashed. "You mean this?"_

_But now Xemnas stepped between them, imposing as ever yet still so dry-seeming to her. Like she'd ever work under such a stiff, no matter how powerful or handsome. "He does not mean anything. Number XII must come to our headquarters. From there, you will set out to the Worlds and collect more Heartless for us. There will be no negotiations, Larxene; this is how all of your predecessors did it. _Obey me_."_

_She gave back a sly wink, disliking 'The Superior' even more. Xemnas reminded her of someone from her before-life, another person who expected to be called Master, another one with an eternally-serious voice who had no idea of the concept of fun. "Okay. No negotiations. But thanks for the tip, patches. Maybe you're not so bad after all. Ooooh... this is gonna be fun! Hehehahaha!"_

_So she strode out into the city, reckless, heedless laughter echoing off the walls that would soon have a great deal more fuel from the pain she would bring to Notre Dame._

_

* * *

_

M: Okay, I'm back in the groove now. Hope you like the flashbacks. Final chapter coming up. Please review!


	14. Quatorze

Quatorze

* * *

Blurred figured moved just out of Sora's sight. He considered just leaving them that way, his own personal sideshow, until he felt fronds of grass tickling his nose.

"W-what? Where's?"

He stood, uncomfortably aware now that he was being watched while he'd been sleeping. The two were standing together in what he found to be an entire grassy field with a circle of flowers, unreal-seeming against a cloudless blue sky. "But... how?"

Looking to his two observers for answers, he again found himself torn between sensation. On one hand, neither of them wore the voluminous black coats he'd come to associate with danger and darkness, one wearing a spiffy vest and pants composed only of black and white interspersed and the other simple white and blue gypsy tunics and baggy pants that would look more at home on Esmerelda.

On the other hand, one of the visitors was _Larxene_. The Organization's Number XII. The golden-haired nymph of anguish and pain who tortured people for fun, who had haunted him for his entire journey through Castle Oblivion. Only now, her petite smile seemed genuine instead of a sick facade. The other, thankfully, did not set off his panic senses in such a way- the familiar face of Roxas met his, equally at ease in this tranquil meadow.

"Is this...?" His visitors both looked extremely amused at his confusion. "Is any of this for real, or not?"

"Yes, of course", Roxas offered him with a wink. "You dreamed up that entire thing about the Thunder Bug Heartless, Notre Dame, the Frollo brothers, Quasimodo, everything. Next time, I'd lay off the paopu fruit."

"Be nice now", Larxene said, eyeing her companion. "He's earned a rest from fighting, even a temporary one."

Even more stumped by how nice the female Nobody was treating them, he let one hand drift down his own body. None of the ripping force of La Tonnsectere's bolt was there. "This has to be another dream", he said with near-certainty.

"Close", Larxene confirmed, nodding at Roxas. "But don't worry, you wouldn't have been able to get up anyway. That thing really let you have it, you know. You shouldn't have underestimated it."

He gave her a skeptical look. "Hey, I did the best I could. Why bring me here, then?"

"I called you here", Larxene smiled. "I've been calling since you arrived in this World, but only Roxas here was listening to me."

His blond 'other self' stretched both his lanky arms around behind his back, a casual gesture more than familiar to Sora- he'd done it himself a thousand times when tired or relaxed. "You're welcome. There's not much else to do around here anyway. You've only gotten in real trouble a few times. Most of it, I've been able to sit back and let you handle things. That Minister guy was pretty tough though."

"No doubt", she agreed.

"Alright", Sora chipped in. Normally he'd be happy to stop and chat a while instead of fight, but there was still the matter of the battle going on outside his sleeping body. "Enough messing around. Who are you, really?"

Larxene faced him eye to eye, and at once Roxas walked over to stand beside him in mock-formality. "Oh yeah. That's right, introductions are in order I suppose. Sora, meet Lady Relena. Lady Relena, Sora."

"But you're dead", Sora remarked in wide-eyed wonder. Now that he looked closer, the woman did indeed have a slightly different build and darker skin from the Nobody he hated. White-painted lips and longer hair as well, though she still retained the odd 'antennae' of hair curling up and over her head from the front, not to mention the green eyes. "Everyone says you were burned at the stake. Like Esmerelda almost was."

"Not quite death", Lady Relena answered. "Moments before I would have suffocated, my heart was overwhelmed with hatred. Hatred for Claude Frollo and the Order of Rheims that persecuted our people, hatred for the soldiers who were too cowardly to stop him, hatred for the common people who let him do as he pleased. Even hatred for Clopin, the man I loved. Hate, as you well know Sora, is a deadly poison. It corrodes one's reason, seeds contempt into compassion and obsession into friendships until there's nothing left for you to rely on but darkness. It's such a hard thing... to forgive someone you hate, and I wasn't exactly in the best of circumstances."

At once, the gypsy woman looked ashamed, slumped down in an emotion he'd never seen her Organization XIII doppelganger display. "With all of that, Xemnas might not even have needed to cast his spell."

"He did it", Sora realized with a start. "Xemnas and Xigbar from the Organization traveled to Notre Dame, and did something that transformed you, a Keyblade Master, into a Nobody and Heartless!"

"Light dawns on marble head", Roxas concurred, tapping his 'other' on the head playfully. "Looks like you finally got it through that thick skull of his."

"Yes", Relena nodded. "But more than that, it was Xemnas who orchestrated my capture by Frollo's soldiers, who revealed the safe house I was hiding in. Claude Frollo, of course, would gladly take anonymous tips if they led to the capture of the leader of the gypsies."

"So that means..."

"That's right", Relena said, feeling her chest in lament. "My incomplete Nobody left to join Organization XIII after a brief killing spree in Notre Dame, leaving my Heartless behind... and one other."

He'd grown quite tired by now of sudden shocks, but could not help gaping at the way the woman expressed that little fact so calmly, almost trivially. "Another?"

She nodded. "_Me_. The essence which summoned you here... A soul, deprived of body, mind, or heart until I became just the opposite. An Antisoul, you might call me, or a ghost. Forever removed from the material world, and only able to communicate through the Keyblade, which yet retains a connection to me even after all the evil my Nobody used it for."

Noticing Roxas' level stare, he looked closer. Certainly, whatever this dream-woman was, it lacked any of the malice a Heartless or Nobody bore complete beings. "So you're what's left of Lady Relena's soul. But, why did you call out to me through the Keyblade?"

"Oh, come _on_". Roxas piped up in annoyance. "It's not that hard to figure out. Really! Sometimes I wonder how I can still exist in a brain so small."

"I needed you to save me", Relena answered without the same snark, but simple empathy. "When my being was consumed by darkness, I remained attached to the resulting Heartless. It's apparently a common occurrence, but I was trapped down here with it when my Clopin sealed it in the sewers, trying in vain to restore some kind of humanity to 'La Tonnsectere'. As you can tell, it didn't work."

Digesting that, Sora could only shake his head at the prospect of being stuck in the labyrinth with the vile Heartless for the better part of three years. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize how bad that must have been for you."

Relena shrugged. "It's a far longer life than most Antisouls experience, since most Heartless of that power are destroyed soon after they appear, usually by you and your friends."

That brought him up short. "My friends. Do you know where they are?"

Before she even moved her head, he knew what the answer would be. "I'm sorry, Sora. I never saw a trace of them in Notre Dame. It's a good search strategy, though. If there's a powerful Heartless in a World your friends visit, I'm sure that your friends Riku or Donald wouldn't leave until it was destroyed."

The compliment only did a little to assuage his own guilt. Unlike most times, he hadn't missed the subtext here. "I'm sorry too, Relena. I never realized before that defeating a big Heartless might also destroy an Antisoul attached to it."

Relena shook her head. "Don't be. Antisouls like us are only the slightest fragment of a complete person, more specifically their memories and conscience. Besides, I'm no expert in these things- destroying 'La Tonnsectere' might actually set me free in this world instead of sending me to the next. We won't know until it happens, but either way, I don't begrudge you it- that Heartless is a true beast. It's too dangerous _not_ to destroy. If you didn't do it, a few decades down the line it might have been able to break down the Grand Gate and make a big mess of things. My people would get the blame, of course, if there was even a World _left _after it was done."

He nodded back, glad to hear this wasn't another case of unforeseen consequences of defeating Heartless. Once with Organization XIII had been enough of a shock. "So. Your Heartless needs to be destroyed. Can I just go back to the real world now? I'm sure Ramza and Quasimodo need my help with it."

She seemed puzzled at that, spreading arms wide to encompass the breezy meadow. "You may leave this place whenever you want to, Sora. But you still wouldn't be able to wake up. When you do, you'll leave here whether you want to or not."

"So I'm better off here", Sora deduced, sighing. The notion that his friends were fighting for their lives with nothing he could do to help went anathema to everything he believed in, but somehow he forced himself not to panic. "I might as well make the best of things. There's something else that's been bugging me, Relena- I saw what happened when Xemnas found your Nobody. She went crazy almost right away. What stopped the same thing from happening to Roxas?"

His own Nobody blinked. "I... hadn't thought of that. I wasn't exactly a saint when I was with them, you know. I completed more missions, took more hearts for them than even Larxene did when she had the Keyblade. Probably because she liked to torture Heartless before destroying them. _My_ three hundred and fifty-eight days went past like a blur. They were no picnic, I can tell you."

"It's hard to say", Relena chipped in thoughtfully, palming her small chin. "I only have our combined memories to go on, of course. But Roxas wasn't created in the same way as the rest of the Organization, even if Xemnas found him. You weren't corrupted by the darkness in your heart, but rather you voluntarily seperated them. After that, Roxas still retained enough of his conscience and memory to break free of the Organization in time."

"I remember", Roxas affirmed, his sarcasm gone. "I remember Xemnas talking about how I might... I might prove to be harder to control than the others."

"And you were", she replied. "Whereas with my 'other', any mission that let her inflict pain on others to forget about her own was her pleasure. Of course, even that did not prove to be enough for her, and she joined the insurrection against the Superior. Another sign that Roxas was different from the rest of them is that he could hear or read your name perfectly, whereas the rest of them had mental blocks on their old names."

"Then the Keyblade saved us again. It let us break the cycle."

Relena cast her face down. "Yet it was only a miracle that let you regain your original body and become whole again. Do not expect any of us to be able to repeat that performance- have no regrets in destroying my Heartless. Instead, always remember how it, Larxene, and I were created, and never repeat that mistake."

Sora scratched his hair. "Come again?"

More serious than he'd ever seen her, the gypsy locked eyes with him again, and this time he could see the tears. "It's inevitable. It will happen someday Sora, regardless of how simple and clean your heart was when you started out on this journey two years ago. The path of the Keyblade bearers is filled with conflict and heartbreak, and you have already learned much of it as you grew older and wiser. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next month... but some day. Some day, like me, you will feel a great surge of anger and hate for someone threatening to consume your heart, turn a young man into a young monster. _You must not give in to it!_ For the sake of all the Worlds, you must stand firm!"

He considered her words, heavier and more important than most he was used to in his age. _In the end, every light must fade... _"I promise, Relena. I'll never let that happen!"

"And I'll make doubly sure", Roxas confirmed in equal resolve, stepping up beside him with his arms crossed. "Once was enough of that, even if I wouldn't be here without it." He stretched out one hand, ruffling his 'other's spiky hair and grinning. "Someone once told me, that this guy is too nice for his own good... but why ruin that yet? Childhood innocence is a precious thing, too. Even the final fragments you have left."

"Then we're done here", Relena finished, radiating gratitude as she bowed to the two. "Go get 'em, Keyblade Master."

* * *

Sora awoke to a burning sensation on his left arm. Though instinct forced his hand up to the tender skin, he welcomed the pain. It meant he'd only been unconscious for a few moments.

These moments had not boded well for his friends, he noted sadly as he stood, taking in the desolate chamber. Quasimodo lay twitching on the floor, crackles of electricity still visible on his frame, while Ramza continued to slash back and forth to keep the deadly tendrils from touching his fallen allies. He'd obviously rushed the Heartless after Sora had been knocked out, now devoting his blade to massive, wide swings that drove 'La Tonnsectere' back and back. Yelling and cursing in the Ivalician tongue, he cut again and again. From the way it moved the creature was obviously on its last legs, but its antennae yet moved with the same unpredictable lashing as they had from the beginning. One tried to wrap itself around Ramza's leg, only to be cut away and reform within seconds.

"Sora!", he heard the Beoluve call his name in relief. "I thought you- oh no."

His revival, to Sora's chagrin, had become the distraction the Heartless needed to bring both feelers together. It did not produce the deadly 'mega-bolt' this time, perhaps lacking the strength to do so, but instead a spray of a thousand smaller blasts, impossible to evade.

Then the room flashed white, and the blasts flew through empty air instead of the armored noble they would certainly have struck. Quasimodo, too, was no longer there.

Looking down for a brief second, Sora was somehow not surprised to his clothes had changed. Instead of the black and yellow tunic Yen Sid had blessed him with, it was now a luminous jacket which seemed to float of its own accord even while he, too, floated above the ground. Like before, the texture was a riot of black, white, and gray that glowed not only with his power, but the merged power of three good friends as well.

Quasimodo.

Ramza Beoluve.

And Roxas.

Conjuring three additional Keyblades- one to hold in his off hand, two more which floated at his side to ward off attacks, Sora charged. Thunderbolts and antennae flew but were knocked aside by the defending Keyblades. Before the Heartless could leap, Oathkeeper and Oblivion cleanly pierced its forehead. It screeched and thrashed, but the Keyblade Master did not show pity, did not hesitate to channel more light into the two weapons, building to an explosion that blew him clear.

'La Tonnsectere' seemed to freeze, all sound except its final, inhuman scream cut short, before its skin cracked, falling into a million tiny bits like a shattered window. A moment later, he reverted, leaving Ramza and Quasi standing there with nothing more than mild headaches and severe confusion.

"Wh-what?"

"Just one more trick I picked up from Master Yen Sid", Sora assured them both, clasping their shoulders even though he had to stretch to get around Quasimodo. "It's the strongest kind of 'Drive'. It's awesome, I know, but it takes a lot out of you too. _Curaga!_"

Quasimodo smiled, feeling his strength return, but Ramza did not seem relieved. Frightened of the boy before him, perhaps? Or simply respectful? He couldn't say. The eloquent warrior from Ivalice was still an unknown in many ways, though hopefully someday that would change. "Well", he finished up, looking around the chamber for a faster exit than the way they'd come in by, "that about takes care of the Heartless."

"Not quite, my friend", a new voice answered him, causing all three to wheel about and see Lady Relena standing impassively before them. "I can still remain here a moment longer." A transparency and rippling in her image betrayed just how faint the Antisoul was in this world, and how temporary such an appearance would be.

Seeing her face again, Sora felt his gut drop away in shame, a feeling nearly as foreign to him as the woman he'd hated with all his might once. No matter what was said to him, no matter how kind this beautiful gypsy woman was to him, her Nobody had made a first impression on him that cut all the way to the heart. He could never look at Relena without seeing Larxene's cruel face. _But..._ Perhaps that was part of the challenge. Motioning his comrades back in assurance that this ghost was no threat, he stepped forward. Despite how nervous he felt, somehow the words were easy to think of, if not so much to speak.

"I... forgive", Sora intoned, refusing to break eye contact. "I forgive you. I understand now, how it must have felt when you woke up as a Nobody. Without a heart to guide you and tell you right from wrong, it was easy for the darkness to take hold of you, and bring out your ugly side until that was all that anyone saw. You couldn't help what you were, or what you weren't."

Feeling something drawing him closer, he did not resist. _Goodbye, hatred. I hope I never feel you again._

He did not feel the touch of the Antisoul's arms around him. They passed straight through, leaving only a warm, golden light that gradually blocked out all detail of the room save for his friends. Neither looked alarmed. Only awestruck at seeing the ghost embracing Sora, and he returning the gesture, eyes shut. Three breaths after, the image rippled further before fading away completely. The details of the world around them began to snap back into existence, only this time they were the familiar cobblestones and houses of Notre Dame square.

The surprised exclamations of the people they'd appeared before rang out, yet the Keyblade Master did not hear them. There was a plaintive whisper ringing in his ears that he knew he would carry with him for the rest of his days.

It said, _'thank you'._

_

* * *

_

The day after, no one who had met the foreign warriors from another World dared to miss their departure. Score by score they trickled in, beginning with familiar faces like Quasimodo, Djali and Jehan then progressing to folks Sora and Ramza Beoluve had only caught fleeting glimpses of during their time in Notre Dame. Quasimodo and Esmerelda were the first, arriving together and offering a hearty handshake and a hug respectively. "In the long view, you brought this about.", the girl noted to Sora knowingly. He noticed she refused to let her gaze linger on Ramza. "If you hadn't helped me get up the bell tower, I'd have either died trying to reach Quasimodo or given up. Then who would have saved me, right? And heaven knows how much you've helped Clopin purge his guilt over Relena."

Sora half-forced a smile, happy to have both met and helped all of them, as he always was when the time came to leave a World behind for the moment. He'd made the right choice in opting not to give Clopin some of the more grisly details about how Larxene had come into the World, tarnishing the memory of the good woman Relena had once been. "I just hope that in time, he can remember the good times over the bad. The same for Quasimodo, in fact."

The hunchback's affections immediately made Sora think of the contrast with how shy and introverted he'd been when they'd first met. With the bell tower still partway destroyed, he had little choice now but to seek out new lodgings in the city, content to use the Court of Miracles for now but interested in finding a place to call his own. "I'll never forget you", the hunchback insisted, brushing back his red mop to get a better look. "Any of you. This is everything I've ever wanted. I only regret it had to come at the cost of bloodshed."

Esmerelda clapped one hand to his shoulder. "Don't. This was about more than you, but the entire city's stance on outcasts like you and I. Claude Frollo was the start. It might not be this year, or even this lifetime, but someday we'll able to leave the Court behind. We'll look up at the sun with no fear. I promise."

"Monsieur Sora", a sober Clopin now cut in on them before the crowd's noise could become more disruptive- it looked as though everyone had turned out for this, making it almost feel like a ceremony. "I see you have finally succeeded in your quest to find someone."

Blushing, Esmerelda stifled a laugh but Sora didn't seem to get the barb. "A whole lot of special someones", he replied simply. "But no one I was originally looking for. I still have to find them, but when I do, we'll come back here and I can introduce you. I'm sure you can keep the place clean while I'm gone?"

"But of course!", the jester assured him, extending one gloved hand. "Clopin merely wished to grant you one final token of our appreciation before you go."

Remembering the 'show' they'd put on vividly, his brows arched. "It's not that sock puppet, is it?"

Clopin chuckled, dropping the tiny object into the boy's palm. "Close." He raised the aforementioned puppet up high, waving it to the assembly and then over at Ramza. "Something a bit more durable, perhaps?"

Intrigued, Sora tore the wrappings and gasped. In his hands lay a small, wooden figurine of the same design as Quasimodo's various other models. Masterful even by his standards, the small trinket replicated Sora's brown hair and blue-button eyes perfectly, along with the design of his vest and shoes, though too small for a mouth or nose. Quasimodo winked back, acknowledging his own work in collaboration with the gypsy leader. "You'll always have Paris, my friend", Clopin maintained. "On behalf of us all, we wish you _bon sois_."

That seemed to be the signal, the opening Clopin knew he would need. The longer Sora stayed, basking in the affection of his new friends, the harder it would be to return to the task at hand. He needn't have worried, though. Sora's mind remained focused, and he even had someone else less emotional to help him get back on track, who gestured neutrally at the Keyblade Master. Ramza had replaced his lost armor, and now waited patiently for his comrade to finish up.

"Would that every land I saved could be as gracious", the older warrior admitted. "Though I trust you've dealt with some Worlds that did not reciprocate your efforts as kindly?"

"Tell me what 'reciprocate' means and I'll tell you", Sora chirped back, again producing the Keyblade and carefully pointing it towards thin air.

"The gypsy girl told me of your plight", Ramza observed. "Have you chosen our next destination yet?"

Fumbling in his belt for the simple paper list he hadn't looked at since arriving, Sora shrugged. "I figure I can just go down to the next one on the list. One's as likely to help us locate Riku and the others as the next, right?"

"Well reasoned", his comrade considered. "Is it merely a list of names, then?"

"Yeah", Sora confirmed, looking down it before remembering to stroke off _Relena_. "Alright... got it. We'll go to try and find a Mr. 'Rudol'. Heh. That almost sounds like Rudolph."

Ramza looked uncertain, waving one last goodbye of his own. _Esmerelda... I shall never forget thee._ "Rudolph?"

"Santa's ninth reindeer? I guess you never read that story. That's one book I've read that you haven't, eh?"

"_One _book", Ramza emphasized gamely. "But enough fooling around. Do we just step into the gate once it's opened?"

"It worked before", Sora reasoned. Then, raising the Keyblade; "In the name of the Keyblade, please guide us to the home of Rudol! _Rudol_!".

Taking the handle in both hands now, he brought it down and seemed to cut the air in two. Instantly, a luminous breach reminding Sora of the Door to Light opened itself up before the two of them, shining invitingly as if beckoning them to their next destination. With one last look back, both walked into it.

They did not see the new booth Clopin and several of his underlings were already assembling, a colorful thing of curved wood and playfulness where hand puppets could conceal their origin and become characters of myth and imagination. "Now", the masked gypsy leader said to the children gathered in front of him, feeling Lady Relena's gentle hands on his shoulder. "Sit down, _mes braves_. Have some bread. Let Clopin tell you the tale, of a _man_... and a _monster_."

* * *

The bright abyss which yawned before them now might have frightened Sora had he not done it before, but Ramza waited several moments before daring to take a step along the path between worlds. Sora honestly found it to be far less comfortable than Gummi Ship travel, but at least it only took roughly the same amount of time. Without hesitating, he strode forward, he and Ramza's echoing footfalls the only audible noise.

"There is one thing that still troubles me", Ramza spoke, seeking to change that monotony after the first hundred steps on the invisible path. "Quasimodo spoke of three stone gargoyles that were his friends."

"Right", Sora remembered, retaining the lead. "Victor, Hugo, and Laverne."

"In any World where magicks exist, such things would be plausible of course. But I never saw a sign of them moving or speaking to anyone but the hunchback."

Sora scratched his head. That one had puzzled him too. "I know. So either they only come to life for their friend and distrust everyone else- sort of like Quasimodo when I first met him, or...?"

Ramza shook his head, not wanting to condemn their friend but seeing no other possibilities. "Twenty years. Twenty years cooped up in a bell tower, sir Sora. Some strange quirks are inevitable. The true miracle of God is that he's even as friendly as he was, instead of a gibbering ghoul. They were most likely imaginary... But that leads to another question."

"Which is?"

"How did he ever manage the defense of the cathedral? He defended all four sides of the tower from the city guard, and believe me, he wasn't skimping on any of them. Somehow he managed to prepare boiling oil, falling rocks, and a dozen other projectiles all at one time. He _said_ his friends helped him."

The paradox stopped Sora in his tracks for a moment, but then he just shrugged and continued on. "I don't think it's worth arguing over. He said they're real, maybe they're only real to him."

"There are more bizarre things in Heaven and Earth than mortal philosophies could ever dream of", Ramza concluded as if quoting some book. "Speaking of, how are your injuries?"

"Fine." He picked up his pace to prove that. "It was more just resting than recovering from my wounds- once that was done I just healed the rest of them myself."

But his comrade remained unconvinced. "Not-Frollo was purging you repeatedly with sacred flames. Then there was 'La Tonnsectere'. I doubt there's a healing magic powerful enough to undo that in just a few days."

"I've had worse."

A surprised gulp. "You jest, sir Sora."

"Nope. Not kidding. There was this one time when Captain Barbossa- he's this nasty ghost pirate guy- got me in the left arm with his sword, hacked it down almost the hilt. Now _that_ time, I thought I was done for, but the Keyblade stopped me from losing too much blood before Jack took him down. Then there was Xemnas..."

_So that's why you have no battle scars_, Ramza observed, intrigued. _Just how powerful is this child? _"Quite a handy weapon, that. Transportation, shield and a conduit for magicks all in one. And lest we forget, it opens any lock."

"Jealous, 'sir' Ramza?", Sora teased, snapping the weapon in question back into existence to punctuate and staring at the weapon as he walked. "Don't be. My friend Leon said that the Heartless are always drawn to the Keyblade, to try and defeat its master. I should have known from the start that I'd have to fight again as long as it stayed with me. I wouldn't call it a bad life... but it's no walk in the park."

"Indeed", he acknowledged thoughtfully. "A heavy burden to bear, and you've borne it far longer than the year that Lady Relena did. Might it only pass to another upon your death, then?" He deliberately left out the other possibility of his transformation into a creature of darkness. _Perhaps that was a part of how past Keyblade Masters became corrupted as well. Resentment over their assigned task to fight the Heartless forever. Yet, this boy shows almost no signs of it. Why?_

"I... I don't know."

"Forgive me for prodding", he backed off on that front, aware that they were delving into aspects of the Keyblade only a handful would ever know. Too much thinking about it would only fuel Sora's fear of his own weapon. Nothing good could come of that. "How soon until our arrival?"

"We should be close", Sora admitted, stepping forward slowly as if feeling for something. "We should be- There!"

Once again, space seemed open up as if the Keyblade had cut it open. With a flash, the portal dimmed, and both the boys stood in the dark of a night still devoid of stars, sizing up the new World they had arrived in.

Sora gasped, stretching his eyes to the horizon. Though the night obscured much, they appeared to be in some kind of city. More specifically, on the roof of one of the taller buildings in it, so tall they grasped the sky. Other brick structures of all shapes and sizes led in every direction, obviously far more advanced than anything in Notre Dame or Ramza's World. The big standout was the tallest of these, a majestic tower with walls of glass lit up from within by a round spire of white marble topping the base. To both their great surprise, the building even seemed to bear an old-fashioned brown-brick castle suspended upon a bowl of glass panes on top of the spire like a platter, their combined height easily dwarfing any structure they'd ever seen before.

"Impressive", Ramza remarked, summing up their first thoughts on it. "Do you have any idea where Rudol is, or- URK!"

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Ramza buckled to his knees with his friend under an onslaught of sensation, united in their screams. They'd both faced many injuries, but this was different. This anguish came from the inside, impossible to stop. No one seemed to hear them, but that was the least of their worries. The first to be able to fight off the haze of pain enough to see again, Ramza wished he had not, and spared himself the sight of his friend and knowing from the feel of it that the same thing was happening to _him_.

Sora's clothes were being shredded apart by a horrific muscle expansion happening over most of his body. His skin had become discolored, shifting from a healthy flesh hue to dark blue. Worse still was his face, an mouth wide open in screaming to reveal wicked fangs growing within it, and when Sora opened his eyes, Ramza saw no sign of the blue pupils that usually resided there, only a white glow narrowed by rigid eye-bones.

Hands and feet curled up, solidifying into talons. The clothes had managed to at least survive as black and yellow rags, but anything on Sora's back was simply torn apart when a pair of sinister appendages sprouted from there, ripping a hole before spreading into large bat-wings. While Sora's spiky brown hair had survived intact, little else left would even be recognizable as human, much less the Keyblade Master. Either spurred by the pain or only now realizing what he'd been transformed into, he let out a feral shriek to the sky that no human throat could have produced, eyes glowing like phosphorous embers.

Now his own wings were sprouting. He could feel the murderous fangs within his throat, and the sword arm that had won a hundred battles becoming an animal's impliments. Fear gripped his heart. _Terrible_. Worse than anything Ramza could have expected from the journey. It was his own very worst nightmare come to life. _Demons_, he deduced in bare shock, too scared even to pray for release. _We've become Lucavi. Not the Zodiac Braves, but vile abominations against God nonetheless. No...no... NO!_

Unable to contain himself any longer, he roared along with the winged creature his poor young friend had been turned into, their shared horror rending the skies of Manhattan Island as if to pave way for the stars.

* * *

_Sealed your fate tonight in stone_

_I hate to cut the fun short_

_But the joke is wearing thin_

_Let the audience in _

_Let the real show begin_

* * *

M: Well there you have it, the end of the story and my first-ever 'sequel hook'. As to whether or not I'll be doing that sequel involving the mystery world I described in the last segment (anyone remotely familiar with that franchise should be able to guess it) or something else is up to you, the viewers. Tell me your thoughts, if not on that, than anything else in this story you want to talk about. I did the very best I could, but I'm all ears.

As for the barrage of revelations in the final two chapters, I'm sure at least some of it will be contradicted in upcoming sequels (still only seen plot outlines for Birth by Sleep), but so far it dovetails very nicely I think. Of more concern to me than continuity issues was the portrayal and depth of characters and their relationships, which as I'm finding more and more is crucial to a good plot. Giving Sora depth and maturity while having him remain the happy-go-lucky child hero we see in the games was quite a challenge- I'm quite glad I didn't follow my initial impulse to have Donald and Goofy along for the ride. Quasimodo, too, was difficult to construct dialogue for outside of the situations duplicated from the movie. In case you can't tell, Clopin would be my fan-favorite.

In any case, I hope that if ever this movie is brought into the KH-verse, that it's story would end up something like this one. Adieu.

* * *

-DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF TONY JAY-


End file.
